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[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | I hide behind the wall, praying Starhands doesn't find me yet, and tremble as I fumble with my battered old mp3 player.
I don't want to but I have to use it. The forbidden playlist. The reason why I'm even on this team when my powers only last as long as the song plays.
Track 1. Running Down A Dream by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers. Solid Illusions.
I run back to the battlefield even as multiple copies burst from various piles of debris. We each get in at least one hit before he starts burning them from the inside out. I make them wink in and out of his reality, always careful to stay behind him, never taking more than an elbow never letting him touch me with those toxic hands.
And as the song fades I take off leaving my clones to their fate. This next song works better at a distance. Well, it's better that I'm at a distance anyways.
Track 2. Dream Lover by Bobby Darin. Biochemical Manipulation
That's what the tester called it but the reality is that I just make them horny. How is that a superpower you might ask? Because it's not just horny it's "caused a stroke from lack of blood to the brain in the first volunteer" horny. It's "supervillain had to have reconstructive surgery on their genitals" horny. It's "writhing on the ground in pain because your so oversensitive that even the air feels like knives in your flesh horny".
It's "accidentally caused a mass orgy that ended with multiple rape charges laid on me the first time I unknowingly used it and that's how I ended up on a governmental super team" horny.
It's enough for a distraction but as the song fades Starhands recovers almost too quickly, his own biochemical manipulation sweeping the effects of mine away in moments.
But I still have enough time to get in position for the last song.
Track 3. Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas and the Papas. Time Regression.
As he charges me I raise my arms and he slams into me, not realizing the mistake he's made as I wrap my arms around him and cling, crooning along soft as a lullaby. I keep my eyes closed, not daring to look as first his muscles fade back into a lanky frame and then he begins to shrink, screams going higher and higher as his vocal chords return to those of a teenager, then a child, toddler baby, newborn. Fading as he becomes a foetus, a blastocyst, a clump of cells, un-dividing into fewer and fewer until it becomes a fertilized ovum then unfertilized ovum and sperm then dissipates into nothing as the last notes fade.
I pause the playlist before the last song can play.
I hope I never end up in a situation where I need the Lemmy Kilmeister cover of Enter Sandman. Not after what happened the first time. | Lying flat on ground, I can feel at least seventeen dozens of my bones has cracked, I think I have never been injured this much.
“Cut the beat, “ I said, as the enemy turn it's target toward yet another of my companions. “I need healing songs, Rain.”
“Oh my... You still alive? Okay, listen to me, -”
“Na-ah, listen to music first, please, I really don't like the way of my knee touching my shoulder.” I try to move the mesh which would be called fingers and palm, no joy.
“Okay okay, here comes your New Ages, now listen-“ the carelessness and the swiftness from the dancing songs start to decay, and the soothing flow take over to cover the pain “the f-ing monster has got 90% of our force, and I think it had already located our HQ, I need you to retreat immediately, so we can have a second ch- no no no no run ja-.”
Sure, now I lost the last thing I still cared, just like that.
My oath, my loved ones, my friends, my home, my musics, and Rain. None of them valid anymore. I should be feeling painful now, right? Both mentally and physically?
At least I can feel my fingers correctly now, multi purpose player laid right on my shoulder, I crawl my hand onto the machine.
No way we can have a second chance, it's now or never. At the same time, I should feel vengeful to choose THE forbidden one shouldn't I?
Unlock, spam “go back” button, 1 up, 7 right.
“Play list ‘the forbidden’ contains, one, song, do you sure you want to play it?”
They said I can never listen to this one unless the truly unless happen, and I will immediately understand why it's forbidden, and how to use it.
Confirm.
Hopefully they are right.
Play.
All the pain popped right back in, all tears burst like a bomb, I couldn't help but cried out so loud that the unfortunate tree I was facing against bursts into pieces.
That's it? Is THAT the ability?
Under so much pain and confusions, I can't concentrate on music any more.
That's it? How on earth being loud AF can hurt a monster that not even a tactical nuke can burn it's skin?
“You are still alive.” it said, using it's dreadful sound.
The monster appears on the remain of the tree that bursted, I yelled at it without a second thought, put all my pain, anger and doubt in my sound, yelled untill my lungs shrink like an old balloon.
“Pathetic.”
That's it, no one can stop it anymore, I give up on thinking, lie back to the ground and closed my eyes, await my certain end.
The vibe of music do be fitting tho, tic tic tic tick, what language did the singer just sang?
“but the frustration and the fear stay still” ah, Mandarin, I know this language, that lyric fit my situation very well.
“but the frustration and the fear stay still”
“Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.” it sings softly, and I followed it in whisper.
“wouldn't this kind of lyric drive those Asian parents crazy? How is this song not forbidden?” I thought, while something puncture my belly.
“Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.”it sings a little bit louder the second time, I followed the lyrics, and felt something puncture my chest.
Third time is a lot louder “Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.” I open my eyes, expect to see the things that broke my body.
Instead, I see the monster also got 3 empty holes at belly, chest and throat, just like me.
It make sense now, why the ability of sound, why it's forbidden, and why the music isn't over yet.
I think I'm the first one who knows the facial expression of fear of this god damned creature.
And, probably the last one as the music rise.
“KILLL THEM ALLL, KILL ME MIGHT AS WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-”
(”now I beg you”.) | 2022-05-17T12:33:11 | 2022-05-17T11:29:53 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] "Sanctuary," the child cried running into the library "Nice try," the guard following after sneered, "but only holy places can grant sanctuary." The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. "Sanctuary granted" | The guard tried to storm into the library but the head librarian positioned herself firmly in his path. She was not a large woman and the guard was a tall, muscular man but the way that the librarian carried herself gave him pause. She had drawn herself up to her full, diminutive height and was glaring at him with such fierceness that he realised he would have to physically throw her aside if he wanted to get past her. Instead he attempted to appeal to reason.
"Look, sanctuary isn't just something that any old building can offer." He explained. "It's for holy places and that kid is a criminal. You have to let me in."
"Why?" She demanded, without even a pause for thought.
Behind the head librarian other staff members had already led the child out of the guard's view and the longer he wasted on this conversation the less chance he had of knowing if the brat had chosen to hide or run. If run, where did the exits from the library lead? It was fairly central and depending on the number of windows there could be a variety of different escape routes.
"What do you mean 'why?' - I just told you that you have to right to block me. This isn't a holy place."
"Of course it is."
The guard didn't really have a response for that. He couldn't hear any tell tale noises of windows or doors in the library that would suggest an escape was happening but he was nevertheless starting to consider just bowling this small woman over.
"Why do you think it isn't?" The librarian pressed.
"I do not have time for this. You're a library. You don't have a god, you have books."
One of the other librarians had come back to the main entrance now, hovering behind the head librarian uneasily. He did not look armed or even confident but something about the way his eyes flitted between the guard and the head librarian suggested that he would back her up no matter what.
The head librarian herself barely seemed phased by the escalating tension. She adjusted her stance slightly but still stood firm.
"A god is not the only thing that makes a place holy. The druids don't have a god and yet their temples are places of sanctuary."
The guard stepped as close as he physically could to the librarian without knocking her aside.
"That's a place of worship. They have faith and rituals and all of that. This isn't any of that and you know it. Stand aside."
The head librarian could surely feel the guard's breath on her forehead he was looming so closely over her. Yet she merely tilted her face upwards so that her eyes still met his and told him-
"No."
As he reached for his weapon she continued.
"We are a temple of knowledge. How can you say we have no ritual when every day we arrange these books so lovingly into a precise order? How can you say this place houses no worship when every last one of us can name at least a handful of books we have cared for as much as a child, a god or a friend? How can you say we have no faith when our passion to seek out and provide knowledge is more devout than the acts of any monk."
The other librarian reached under the desk but before the guard had time to react he'd already seen that what the man had pulled out was not a weapon but a small and worn leather bound book. He shrugged almost apologetically as he placed it into his jacket pocket.
"If this is going to end in bloodshed and I have to die then I would rather die with my favourite words close to my heart."
*Who were these people?*
"It doesn't have to. Just move aside now and I won't have to hurt any of you! This isn't a place of worship, this is just *books!*"
The head librarian shook her head slowly and the guard could swear that the man behind her chuckled quietly.
"This is a temple of knowledge, not paper. I have given you more than enough argument to justify why taking that child would be unlawful and if you try then I *will* stop you for as long as I'm still breathing. Not because I care about him but because nobody storms the house of my faith uninvited."
She leant forward and without thinking the guard shuffled back. Flustered, he loosened his sword from its hilt. Nobody else came close to drawing a weapon in response.
"Of course," the head librarian continued, "neither the illegality of entering nor how difficult it would be for you to overpower us should be your main concern. Over the years we have offered our knowledge to hero and criminal alike without judgement. We have dispensed information that saves lives and have even both found and provided texts that averted a war. If you kill us, which is the only way you are going to make your way in here, then you will suddenly find you have many enemies.
Every herbalist in the city visits here regularly and has borrow books on both cures and poisons. Their intentions were purely to make sure that harmful plants are never mistakenly given out instead of their similar looking and beneficial cousins but there are other uses for books on poisons. Some of your coworkers, friends and family may have been here searching for answers about sensitive matters I will never reveal to you. And they may not be best pleased to learn that you decided to hurt us just to arrest some child.
And that isn't even counting the librarian who isn't working here today or the scholars who regularly help out. They know the passions and secrets of everyone who walk through those doors as well as half the knowledge in the books we house. There is frankly no aspect of your comfortable life that they could not destroy within a week."
The head librarian stepped forward again and the guard stepped back through the threshold as he fully sheathed his sword.
"You're right," the head librarian said as she began to close the door, "we don't have a god."
The smile she gave to the guard before she closed the door in his face would haunt him for some months later, as would the last thing she said.
"But we don't need one." | The High Church of Asteros. Divine. Devoted. And dangerous to trifle with. Even the Queen of all Fretoria tread lightly in their hallowed halls. And it was rumored that some of the members of the Lords Court were secret patrons of the High Church. One such rumor revolves around the city library of Lord Barnabus in the capitol city of Galthea.
-
Galthea is known for many things. Tall spires, luxurious bathhouses, greedy merchants living it up in the most extravagant ways possible. But it’s also, naturally, the seat of power for all major players in the Queendom of Fretoria. And, as such, it houses the main branch of the High Church of Asteros, the most popular religion in all the land. In the last century, the High Church had come to such prominence that it now dominated the political landscape. Past Queens had made laws protecting it from all inquiry and subjugation by the crown or any other enforcers, and the High Church was thereby more than happy to provide sanctuary to any and all who asked it of them, regardless of reason. This is not to say that the High Church is full of lawless renegades though, for to remain in sanctuary for an extended time one must become a member of the clergy; not something most criminals could bear. And therefore a balance is achieved. A murderer, for example, may enter the church and be granted sanctuary for a night, but the crown guards will be waiting outside for them in the morning. Or, on the other hand, a poor beggar being harassed may find new purpose as a well fed and warmly clothed clergy member. All in all, the High Church of Asteros is a *good* organization. But there are tales of them having secret locations around the city and the queendom that have the same privileges and security as the church itself.
-
-
Lord Waltonuss Osmanthus Barnabus, the first and only child of his lineage, was born into a family of lesser nobles. They owned 260 parcels of undeveloped land to the west of Galthea. This country living led to a sturdy, but gentle, mindset for the lord, and a devout belief in the queendom’s main religion of Ateroseism. When he came of age and took over for his father, his young and curious mind led him on a journey to the capitol to make a name for himself and expand the influence of his family. What he couldn’t have known at the time was that his reverent upbringing would play such a beneficial role in these endeavors. Upon first entering the mighty city of Galthea, he headed to the High Church of Asteros to pay his respects. But what he didn’t know was that a clergyman happened to be entering the city just behind him and, upon seeing this stranger to the city go to the church as his primary objective, henceforth knew this lesser lord had a bright future in the city. As it turned out, this clergyman was none other than the Grand Cleric of the Order of the Holy Dragon, who periodically disguised himself in the clothes of lesser clergymen and went out to feed and clothe the poor and heal the sick in the outlying, less fortunate towns surrounding the capitol.
These days Lord Barnabus spent the majority of his time in the Lords Court, arguing over economics and other policies and leaving the management and development of his estate to his now many retainers, all the while doing whatever he could to help the church that had risen his status up so high. One such thing that required his constant attention was the secret base of the Order of the Holy Dragon; housed in one of various buildings purchased by Lord Barnabus after his rise to power. The base’s location and importance was, of course, known of by both the crown and the church, but the common folk knew it only as the city library.
-
-
Angela wasn’t born poor. In fact, her family had been decently well off for her first few years living in Galthea. But then, when she was just 7, an unattended kitchen fire in the house down the street grew out of control. It quickly spread to the neighboring homes and engulfed her peaceful life in searing flames. Her parents didn’t make it, and neither did any of the paperwork confirming who she was or what inheritance she was entitled to.
Fast forward to now, 8 years later, and Angela had been living on the streets for long enough to become quite good at pickpocketing and hustling tourists whenever she could. But on this one day, she picked exactly the wrong pocket. The man she tried to steal from turned out to be an off-duty guard and his coin purse was attached to a chain hidden in his belt that Angela couldn’t see when she first eyed her target.
The off-duty guard was none to happy about being pickpocketed and yelled for some local guards to join him in the chase of young thief Angela. But she knew these streets. She grew up here and there was no way she wasn’t getting out of this. She ducked down an alley, clambered up some decorative wall furnishings, and ascended to the roofs. Just then an arrow wizzed past her face, so close it clipped her cheek. As blood began to trickle down her face, she looked down to see a group of armed guards staring back up at her, already nocking more arrows. These guys weren’t messing around. As another arrow nearly missed her, she began to run as fast as she could. At least these city guards weren’t good shots, she thought to herself. But just as she was crossing a particularly dodgy section of roof, she heard a horrible cracking sound.
The next thing Angela knew, she was back on the ground. This wasn’t the best part of town and a section of roof she had been running on had collapsed. She heard the rustle of chain mail and the yells of guards telling her to give up, as she forced her bloodied and battered body to begin running again. The city library was nearby so maybe she could lose them in the stacks and slip out the back. As she rushed into the library, looking over her shoulder, she ran headfirst into a pile of unsorted books and crashed to the floor. The guards had caught up to her and she was in for it now. She didn’t know what to do.
-
Work at the library was slow today. Just some book sorting, nothing fancy or exciting. Until a young girl came barreling through the front entrance and fell on the floor in front of the head librarian and another who had been organizing a pile of books. And then a group of guards came in after her. The head librarian could see that the girl was in trouble. She had a cut on her face and bruises all over her arms and legs. But the strangest thing about her was when she suddenly shouted something she shouldn’t have known would apply here.
“Sanctuary,” the child cried.
“Nice try,” the guard following her sneered, “but only holy places can grant sanctuary.”
The librarians glanced at each other. The head librarian gave a small nod, turned to the guards and, with a stern, intimidating look that no mere librarian should have the capacity to perform, said,
“Sanctuary granted.” | 2022-07-06T08:21:18 | 2022-07-06T07:13:06 | 90 | 31 |
[WP] The young woman had spoken to everyone in town, asking them to teach her to fight. The warrior, the hunter, the knight, all had declined. Finally, in desperation, she spoke to the dwarven blacksmith. Lowering his massive hammer he looked at the fire in her eyes and said "Aye. I could do that." | Her cheeks were flush with a fury that rippled out in every direction unchecked, a raging sea crashing against everything in its path. "Aye. I could do that. It will cost you, child. But I could do it."
"I don't care what it costs. I will pay."
Her clenched fists shook, but her breath began to slow as the indignation at earlier refusals to her request were forgotten. The echoes of their mockery, their cruel laughter, quieted in her mind. She became aware of the calculating, sad look on his face. He raised his hammer, gesturing to her face.
"He did this?"
Her lips pressed to a thin line. She stared back in silence, pain creeping into her eyes behind her righteous, impotent anger.
"Yes. And nobody will help me. Mother hides from me and can do nothing to stop him. She... "
"She what, child?" prompted the dwarf, quietly.
Her answer whispered and shook. "She... she looks worse."
The dwarf sighed. He set the hammer gently down on the bench beside the huge anvil. He wiped his hands on the burlap rag cinched through his belt, and leaned on the bench, head bowed down. His shoulders raised and lowered with deep, slow breaths.
Her face slowly changed as her anger, its burden accepted by the dwarf through his empathy, found there was nothing left to crash upon. Tears swelled in her eyes, and though she tried to hold back, her chest began to rack with quiet sobs. The dwarf walked to her side and rested his hand on her fist. He stared out the door through which she had walked in, stared far into an inner world.
"It will cost everything. Your life will be irrevocably changed. You can never return, and you will lose everyone in this place with whom you still share love. You will be an outcast, and you will be hunted for the rest of your life by all those still loyal to him."
Her indignant rage flared up, muscles spasmed. She turned to look at the dwarf, her eyes full of fire. "I don't -"
But she fell silent as he gripped her forearm. Tightly, in warning, and in compassion.
"I make this promise. It will cost you everything. But when you are ready, not one of those who will hunt you will survive. You will be the Wind of Death. And all of us who suffer under his reign will stand at your side. You will have your revenge, and we our freedom."
He turned to look into her eyes. Her jaw set tight, streaked with tears, the pain in her bright blue eyes piercing his very soul.
"Teach me how, and I will kill him. My brother will die, and his kingdom will die with him. Teach me to fight, for all of us."
The dwarf stared long into her eyes. He nodded slowly. With one hand he reached down through the collar of his tunic and pulled out an amulet that hung around his neck by a braided leather strap. He removed it, and pressed it slowly into her upturned hand.
"Where we are going, you will need this more than I." | The night's darkness plagued the town of Terbarrow, dim lanterns illuminating the gloomy streets. Everyone had gone to their homes and fallen asleep by now and cleared the pathways of the town, everyone but a ghostly figure. The ghoul wandered the streets, checking through all the windows and entering the empty pubs. A glow appeared from the mountain overlooking the town, somehow signaling the ghost to come to it. A flash of light later, and the figure was gone, leaving a mess of cups and beer in the taverns. Leaving one witness to tell the story....
Once the sun arrived, everyone awoke and got ready for the day ahead. Beatrice hadn't gotten any sleep after the ghostly sighting last night and got dressed tiredly. She feared the being but assumed she must have been dreaming or imagining things. She walked out the door and started walking to her job as a waitress at a tavern in town.
Once she arrived, she was surprised by the lack of a line out the door, but thought nothing of it, even though it was the most popular pub in town. She walked inside, only to find her boss on the floor, mumbling about a mess. The building indeed was a mess, mead and beer spilled on the walls, cups hanging from the chandelier, and a table being burnt in the firepit. Beatrice asked her boss, Ivor, what happened "What in the name of Ysloda happened here?! Are you okay?" "No, I think a bear must've gotten in through a window.", Ivor said, gesturing to the broken window by the door. Beatrice knew this wasn't the work of an animal, and she came to the conclusion that what she saw the other night was no dream or hallucination.
She sprinted outside, rushing to the town hall to inform the mayor. She bursted through the doors and informed the mayor of his sighting. "Mr. McDeli, you have to believe me! We're all in great danger! Explain the trashed taverns!", she yelled. "I've examined every tavern and it's clearly the works of a wild animal, bear, deer, or wolf. You must have been dreaming last night! I have no likes for lying gossipers trying to start drama. Guards, show her out, please." The mayor replied. Beatrice pleaded with him as the guards threw her out and locked the big brass doors.
She, not excepting defeat, asked around for fight training, if the mayor wouldn't address this threat, she will. She started at the hunting lodge, asking the hunter, but he refused. She then made her way to the guard barracks and the knights said no. She visited a retired warrior, but he refused to as well.
As a last hope, she visited the Dwarf at his forge. "Hello, miss, how may I help you? Necklace, earing, maybe a bracelet?" He asked her as she walked up the steps to his porch. "Fight training, do you sell that?" She replied. The dwarf looked up from his work and was about to say no, but noticed her stance and the look in her eyes. Lowering his hammer, he said "Aye, I could do that."
"Good, I tried warning the mayor of a possible threat and was brushed off, I fear that his inaction could be the downfall of this town. I witnessed a ghostly figure trash the taverns and fly up to a glow on top of the mountain." "Well, that's quite the imagination, young lady." "It was no dream! Say, the dwarves used to have a city in the mountains. Do you have any tales from when you lived there? legends, myths, stories, anything?" "Well, when I was a little lad, I heard stories of a beast lurking in the mountain, sending ghostly messengers to scout out the lands he wishes to conquer.... actually, you might be on to something there." "See, I told you I wasn't lying!" "Yes, you did, and if you wish to protect this town, you came to the right blacksmith. I can teach you all you need to know."
The dwarf asked for Beatrice to hand him a map on the shelf behind her and introduced himself an Baloff. "Meet me tonight with a cup of mead and I'll show you the basics of fighting.
(WIP) | 2022-08-28T11:54:09 | 2022-08-28T10:43:06 | 69 | 19 |
[WP] A technological civilisation reaches its moon, and is greeted by its god. | "Something's gone wrong. I don't think his communication device... It must be malfunctioning." There had been no word from the shuttle since entering the moon's orbit.
Alarms start to sound and the groundcontrol room is bathed in flashing red light.
Silence from the controllers and monitors.
After a long 3 minutes, they all bow their heads and say a prayer for the astronauts who slammed into the moon.
They had met god.
| Her pupils dilated in the dim light. Today. Ecstasy had started to fill her body since the early hours of this mourning. Today; Today we would join our gods in paradise and breath into ourselves a new awakening, a new understanding of ourselves and be masters of our own fate, rather than slaves to *them*.
But was that our own ignorance?
Hatch's unlock, bolts slide, everything sounding as if they had their own heart. Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka. Thump.
Maybe that was what we were missing.
Her hand shakes. It had been doing that recently, but now sitting by the bay door's it became almost foreign, rebuking the intentions of the body, unwilling to stumble lustfully into the void.
Maybe we were warned.
More gears revolve and rotate, the door slowly lifts, gathering momentum, until all there is between them and the outside were the conscience themselves. She moves a boot, like a pawn, into the chessboard of the moon. 1st move.
2nd move: darkness prevails. She is lost in her thoughts, the landscape changing to fit them. She sees her family, but that's irrelevant isn't it? Her lover's, her children, her species in court before her. It's her choice. She speaks on behalf of herself, but for the thoughts of humanity. And. She. Speaks.
Yet the voice escapes her, pulled back from where it came. Her hand around her back, pulling a tube. With a. Click.
Click. And her world is gone. Everything that means anything to her and anything that means everything for her ends. In that brink on the horizon. It just ends.
Who were we to think we could match a god?
But we will come back. For the game is already in play.
| 2013-10-28T12:20:04 | 2013-10-28T11:28:33 | 30 | 12 |
[WP](NSFW) The world has moved on from nature documentaries, leaving many narrators out of a job. These men and women turn to a new field; narrating pornography.
Nature documentarists narrating porn. | DeVoors lay in bed, watching raw footage of the Great Barrier Reef. A clownfish, an octopus, and an orca whale were converging. DeVoors knew that at least one of them was about to get eaten.
“The carefree clownfish flits between coral structures and giant clams, oblivious to the danger nearby...” DeVoors enunciated into his quad-channel USB mic.
His mobile phone rang.
“Scheiße!” DeVoors cursed. His narration had been ruined. Not that it mattered. No one was buying nature documentaries anymore.
Notorious badboy Joe Biden had won the 2016 US Presidential race. Shortly after being sworn in, he had firmly gripped the country around the neck and shoved his anti-Global Warming Legislation down its throat. The result had been tremendously effective. Within months, CO2 levels had dropped to sustainable levels.
But there had been some sacrifices. Combustible engines had been outlawed, along with meat for human consumption, and excessive flatulence. Everyone rode around on bikes, eating tofurkey and wearing clothes that were unfortunately a little too vintage.
All electricity came from human power. Exercise bikes.
Making all of these incredible sacrifices had caused a bit of a change in the general public’s opinion of nature. While most of the populace had previously been enraptured by the daily intrigues of the deep wilderness, their current sentiments could best be described as ‘absolute fucking hatred’.
As one former environmentalist put it, “No fucking way am I going to pedal the powerbike so I can watch some stupid fucking African jungle cat eat a meal that I’m not allowed to have anymore. I hate mother earth! I want steak!”
But DeVoors couldn’t stop narrating documentaries. He knew no one would buy them, but it was his passion. And when you have a passion, you never give up.
Okay, you never give up, but sometimes--sometimes you have to... Adapt.
DeVoors narrated porn. Just for the cash. He had to. If he didn’t pay rent, he’d have to live on the street. And probably get eaten by a bear or something. Predatory animals had become a bit of a problem now that the gun factories were shut down.
Narrating porn wasn’t so bad. After all, people were a kind of animal, right? And he’d narrated plenty of mating scenes in the past. Lions. Tigers. Gazelles. Snails. Frogs. Giraffes. Hippopotami. And now Blondes. Brunettes. Asians. Amateurs. Teens. Trannies. Lesbians. Latinas. MILFS. Midgets.
He checked his phone. It was the studio. ‘Twisted Cock Productions’. Their logo was a strangled rooster.
He shuddered. This studio was famous for doing the weirdest, most fucked-up porn imaginable. Last month they’d asked him to narrate a scene involving a Japanese waitress on a merry-go-round, being repeatedly cockslapped by a ring of chainsmoking businessmen on the perimeter. The businessmen also happened to be participating in a circle jerk. With each cockslap, the offending businessman would quote a line from Robert’s Rules of Order.
Luckily, DeVoors had had enough cashflow to turn that job down. But things were different now. He was broke. He would have to do whatever they asked of him. Anything.
“DeVoors!” the voice said, “We’ve got some work for you. A full movie, seventy minutes.”
“What genre?” DeVoors said, his voice hollow. He was vaguely contemplating suicide. Perhaps he’d try heroin first. That’d probably make life fun again, at least for a little while.
“You’re gonna love it,” the voice gushed, “It’s right up your alley. It’s what you’re best at.”
“Yeah?” DeVoors said, disbelieving.
“Yeah,” the voice said. “It’s a Bestiality flick.”
DeVoors smiled faintly. Bestiality. Animals. Not quite a nature documentary. But close.
You have to take pleasure in the little things in life, DeVoors reminded himself. Not all of us get to live our dreams. We climb towards them, but life pulls them further away. But at least we get close.
At least we get close. | FADE IN
INT - A BEDROOM
*A YOUNG MAN is seated on a bed, reading through a generic sports-themed magazine. He is tall and muscular, and seems to be hiding an expectant smirk. He is shirtless, and otherwise clad in a pair of tight-fitting jeans.*
**NARRATOR:** Within homes across the planet, a time-honored ritual is taking place. This custom, practiced by all but a few members of the human species, exemplifies both our greatest desires and our darkest weaknesses.
*A title fades into view: TABOO TEMPTATION 12. The title fades away after a few seconds.*
**NARRATOR:** Here, we see a prime example of the human male, lounging atop his nest after a hard day's labor. He peruses imagery of other such males, perhaps believing that he, too, possesses some semblance of their ability.
*The bedroom door opens, and a YOUNG WOMAN walks in. She is dressed in a pink miniskirt and matching halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** Suddenly, the male finds his sanctuary invaded by a female interloper. He responds to her intrusion with a casual yet guarded inquiry.
**YOUNG MAN:** Whoa, why are you just... walking into my room?
**NARRATOR:** Thus challenged, the female responds.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Well, you're my stepbrother, so I need your advice.
**NARRATOR:** Suspicious yet curious, the male continues to seek information.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, and you're my stepsister, but why are you in my room?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sits down on the bed. She adopts a pose that gives the YOUNG MAN an unobstructed view of her underwear.*
**NARRATOR:** The female senses that she is unwelcome in this, the lair of the male. She attempts to relax him with a display of vulnerability.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You know that I really like Bobby, right?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, you talk about him all the time.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** I think he likes me, too, but I want to be sure that I can make him happy.
**NARRATOR:** The ruse has its intended effect: Having been asked for advice, the male lowers his emotional defenses and offers the sum total of his wisdom.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's easy to make guys happy.
*The YOUNG MAN puts aside his magazine.*
**YOUNG MAN:** Is there something else?
**NARRATOR:** The question catches the female unprepared, and she responds with a verbal display of her surprise.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** (*Laughing nervously*) It's just... do you think my boobs are too small?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sticks out her chest and glances down at her breasts, which are only barely contained within her halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** The situation has grown delicate. One false word, and the male will irrevocably harm the self-esteem of his companion.
**YOUNG MAN:** I don't know. You're my stepsister, so I've never seen them.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You're my stepbrother, though, so... like, it wouldn't be weird for you to see them, right?
*With a deliberate motion, the YOUNG WOMAN pulls her top up, revealing her breasts.*
**NARRATOR:** The female offers a display of her bosom to the male, indicating her interest in his approval.
**YOUNG MAN:** I guess it's not weird. I can't tell much just by looking at them, though.
**NARRATOR:** To gauge her desirability, the male performs a tactile examination of the female's chest.
*The YOUNG MAN gropes the YOUNG WOMAN, who moans with delight.*
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Ooh, that feels *good*... but we shouldn't do this, right? I mean... you're my stepbrother.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's not like... it's not like... it's not like it, uh... it *means* anything.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Yeah, it's... it's just a thing, right? Here, maybe I should take your pants off.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, that's a good idea.
*The YOUNG WOMAN clumsily undoes the YOUNG MAN's zipper, revealing his boxer shorts.*
**NARRATOR:** The pair continue to disrobe, allowing one another to take in the unobstructed sight of their undergarments.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Here, maybe it would be better if we were both naked. I mean... it's strange just sitting here with *some* clothes on, you know?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah. It's weird, but it would be okay if we were naked, because you're my stepsister.
*Each of the two strips naked. They start touching one another with reckless abandon.*
**NARRATOR:** The time has arrived. Now suitably aroused, the male and female explore each other's bodies with growing anticipation. Their motions are eager, yet still hesitant... for this is unexplored territory for the step-siblings, who have never before dreamed of copulating with one another. Their journey is certain to be one of thrilling excitement and vast discovery... and it can be yours to watch on demand for only $1.99. Please click the button marked "Get the FULL MOVIE!" in the links below this video.
FADE OUT | 2015-04-08T11:47:33 | 2015-04-08T11:43:32 | 58 | 29 |
[WP](NSFW) The world has moved on from nature documentaries, leaving many narrators out of a job. These men and women turn to a new field; narrating pornography.
Nature documentarists narrating porn. | “Ok, relax, you can do this” Darrell thought nervously.
He got comfortable in the booth and made his headset a little more snug. This was a situation he had been in a hundred times before. But today, the new content came in. The dryness in his mouth, coating his tongue, was a direct result of this….”New content.”
Darrel had built a solid career around narration. He got into voice over work at an early age and was now a decade or two past being a seasoned pro. Up until now, his speciality was nature documentary related narration. Migratory geese, penguin mating rituals, and the like. But due to the recent decline in sales of “Na-Docs” (industry term), all the good V/O jobs were now in, of all things, adult entertainment.
With the advent of newer and newer technology, simply watching porn became a chore. People grew lazy and wanted something more...something new. And thus, pornographic narration was born. It had become a billion dollar industry almost overnight.
“This is just more narration.” he thought as his monitor lit up with a blur of tangled limbs and uncomfortably tan skin. A bead of sweat materialized on Darrel’s brow. Today wasn’t just another narration job for him, but rather, it was an audition. The word on the street was that Netflix-Universal was prepping new content for what would eventually become the porn equivalent of Planet Earth. To people in this business, this would be akin to winning the lottery. Morgan Freeman had passed by Darrell on his way into the building. This was huge and everyone knew it. Executives, producers, the show runners, and all of their assistants...so many people packed tightly into the other room across from Darrel. He slyly dabbed away his sweat before anyone could see it and sat up straight in his chair. The moment had come.
“Ok, great to see you, babe. Just do what you do, no pressure. Let’s give it a try, yeah?” said a voice obscured by studio light.
Darrell took a deep breath and exhaled. The clip on the video monitor was restarted and went to black. As it faded in though, his mind went completely and utterly blank.
As the bodies on the screen began to writhe in tandem, every solitary thought departed from his head. He tried to force himself to speak but all he could muster was a crackling in the farthest reaches of his throat. Panic began to set in. Darrell hadn't realized until this moment just how much the pressure of this audition had weighed on him. An awkward silence...and then...
"Are...you ok?" A voice said over the headset.
"Sorry. Sorry about that. Can we go again?" Darrell asked sheepishly....his mind still blank. He could feel the sweat returning to his forehead in full force and it reminded him of morning dew freshly blanketing the grass in the...
"Wait a minute..." he thought. "Morning dew." Right then, a wave of euphoria washed over Darrell as every nature documentary he had ever narrated before now came back to him. The clip began to play. He opened his mouth, took a deep breath and exploded with the most gently explicit imagery imaginable. A woman arching her back in climax became a wolf rearing back and howling at the moon. This 32 person orgy became a school of fish darting to and fro. The couple furiously flipping into this pile driver position like a honey badger that just didn’t give a shit. His narration evolved into a flurry of color and rhythm the likes of which Shakespeare or Mozart could never imagine. All the faces behind the glass became entranced at the man behind the microphone...their mouths agape. One production assistant fought hard to hold back tears. Every word out of his mouth added notes to the symphony that was his narration.
And suddenly...it stopped.
Everyone in the outer booth audibly gasped.
“No!” shouted the technician in desperation. “No, please! Don’t stop! That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard! Please, tell us, what’s wrong?”
A moment passed before Darrell began to speak.
“I…” he stuttered coming out of an almost hypnotic state.
“I just can’t think of a good metaphor for a queef.” | FADE IN
INT - A BEDROOM
*A YOUNG MAN is seated on a bed, reading through a generic sports-themed magazine. He is tall and muscular, and seems to be hiding an expectant smirk. He is shirtless, and otherwise clad in a pair of tight-fitting jeans.*
**NARRATOR:** Within homes across the planet, a time-honored ritual is taking place. This custom, practiced by all but a few members of the human species, exemplifies both our greatest desires and our darkest weaknesses.
*A title fades into view: TABOO TEMPTATION 12. The title fades away after a few seconds.*
**NARRATOR:** Here, we see a prime example of the human male, lounging atop his nest after a hard day's labor. He peruses imagery of other such males, perhaps believing that he, too, possesses some semblance of their ability.
*The bedroom door opens, and a YOUNG WOMAN walks in. She is dressed in a pink miniskirt and matching halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** Suddenly, the male finds his sanctuary invaded by a female interloper. He responds to her intrusion with a casual yet guarded inquiry.
**YOUNG MAN:** Whoa, why are you just... walking into my room?
**NARRATOR:** Thus challenged, the female responds.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Well, you're my stepbrother, so I need your advice.
**NARRATOR:** Suspicious yet curious, the male continues to seek information.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, and you're my stepsister, but why are you in my room?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sits down on the bed. She adopts a pose that gives the YOUNG MAN an unobstructed view of her underwear.*
**NARRATOR:** The female senses that she is unwelcome in this, the lair of the male. She attempts to relax him with a display of vulnerability.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You know that I really like Bobby, right?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, you talk about him all the time.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** I think he likes me, too, but I want to be sure that I can make him happy.
**NARRATOR:** The ruse has its intended effect: Having been asked for advice, the male lowers his emotional defenses and offers the sum total of his wisdom.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's easy to make guys happy.
*The YOUNG MAN puts aside his magazine.*
**YOUNG MAN:** Is there something else?
**NARRATOR:** The question catches the female unprepared, and she responds with a verbal display of her surprise.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** (*Laughing nervously*) It's just... do you think my boobs are too small?
*The YOUNG WOMAN sticks out her chest and glances down at her breasts, which are only barely contained within her halter-top.*
**NARRATOR:** The situation has grown delicate. One false word, and the male will irrevocably harm the self-esteem of his companion.
**YOUNG MAN:** I don't know. You're my stepsister, so I've never seen them.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** You're my stepbrother, though, so... like, it wouldn't be weird for you to see them, right?
*With a deliberate motion, the YOUNG WOMAN pulls her top up, revealing her breasts.*
**NARRATOR:** The female offers a display of her bosom to the male, indicating her interest in his approval.
**YOUNG MAN:** I guess it's not weird. I can't tell much just by looking at them, though.
**NARRATOR:** To gauge her desirability, the male performs a tactile examination of the female's chest.
*The YOUNG MAN gropes the YOUNG WOMAN, who moans with delight.*
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Ooh, that feels *good*... but we shouldn't do this, right? I mean... you're my stepbrother.
**YOUNG MAN:** It's not like... it's not like... it's not like it, uh... it *means* anything.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Yeah, it's... it's just a thing, right? Here, maybe I should take your pants off.
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah, that's a good idea.
*The YOUNG WOMAN clumsily undoes the YOUNG MAN's zipper, revealing his boxer shorts.*
**NARRATOR:** The pair continue to disrobe, allowing one another to take in the unobstructed sight of their undergarments.
**YOUNG WOMAN:** Here, maybe it would be better if we were both naked. I mean... it's strange just sitting here with *some* clothes on, you know?
**YOUNG MAN:** Yeah. It's weird, but it would be okay if we were naked, because you're my stepsister.
*Each of the two strips naked. They start touching one another with reckless abandon.*
**NARRATOR:** The time has arrived. Now suitably aroused, the male and female explore each other's bodies with growing anticipation. Their motions are eager, yet still hesitant... for this is unexplored territory for the step-siblings, who have never before dreamed of copulating with one another. Their journey is certain to be one of thrilling excitement and vast discovery... and it can be yours to watch on demand for only $1.99. Please click the button marked "Get the FULL MOVIE!" in the links below this video.
FADE OUT | 2015-04-08T14:39:02 | 2015-04-08T11:43:32 | 46 | 29 |
[WP] You child is playing with their toy phone when they hand it to you saying "It's for you." Humoring them, you put it up it to your ear and say "Hello", Someone replies on the other end. | "Hello"
My blood ran cold as the unexpected voice shattered my peace of mind.
"who the hell is this?" I replied trying not to let my voice tremble.
"Yabba dabba do, I like talkin' to you!" was the reply.
After a moments confusion I realized that it was a novelty phone with pre-recorded messages, makes sense or it would be a crappy toy otherwise.
I had practically wet myself over Fred fucking Flinstone. | "The Child!"
*I inhaled rapidly and practically dropped the toy*
"Hello-" He didn't let me finish my sentence.
"The Child. Now." he said in a rough voice.
"..." I paused. I say to my wife "Take her out of the room." My wife then takes our daughter, Jocelyn, out of the living room and into ours.
"Who the hell are yo-"
"Get the Child out now!"
I was baffled. Not understanding what was going around me I retorted quickly.
"Shut the fuck up, right now! Who the fuck are you?! How are you calling us with a god damn toy?!"
"No time for questions, Mr. Quinton. Take the Child and run! Your wife isn't who she says she is."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I must have startled Jocelyn because I heard a quiet scream upstairs.
"Mr. Quinton, your wife isn't your actual wife. Her actual name is Ally Thomson. She works with A.H.C.T. A company that kidnaps children and then uses them for tests. Now get her and leave. She can't die! Not Jocelyn."
I personally didn't believe a word he was saying, but the screaming up stairs began to become more constant and more muffled. So I changed my stance.
"Fine. I'll check on them."
I slowly walked up the stairs. Trying not to make a sound. The scream of Jocelyn began to quiet down. This caused me to run.
I burst in. And what I see... what I see is Jocelyn being taken away by my wife.
Her words?
"AHCT responsibly... Sweetheart!" | 2015-04-18T22:04:42 | 2015-04-18T21:05:19 | 153 | 11 |
[WP] You are an immortal and have been alive for millions of years without anyone finding out. However, Human kind has been evolving, and you have stayed the same. | "Wake this morning. Wonder how sleep in first place. House not feel comforting in years. Need to rearrange house again, but hard to find new patterns. Work closed today from snow. Go to library, still open. Go on reddit to see events today. People same for most part, but news give healthy distraction. Mostly watch videos. Have hard time reading new language, and harder time speaking. Mostly know from face movement. Believe me, though, I can type out what you all describe as "proper grammar", but it puts strain on my mind. It takes much longer, but time was never an issue for me. This easier. Less ache. You still know. Most words spoken, superficial for most part. When I do take time, it's for you, not for me.
Have lots of children. Most mankind now are grandchild. All family. Hurts to see fight, but good to see resolution. Favorite sub is /r/depression. Only way can help mostly. New medicine impossible to understand. No longer old expert used to be. Depression not change, still knows how share pain and burden. Someday depression change. New medicine will fix. Sad but good. Most time no advice, just happy uplifting comic. Gets done in time to still be relevant. Grandfather there for you.
Used to think take own life. Tried many ways, no success. Have few ideas, most likely will work. No longer want to take own life. Selfish thoughts back then. New medicine not fix. Not medical. Need sacrifice many children for curse to lift. Maybe someday, new path be found. Would be sad to leave children. Maybe I stay until heat death of universe, like Asimov's story. Be there to comfort children. Hope to hold on until then.
Go home, think of new furniture setup. Granchild next door still snowed driveway. Retired, in chair. Will make meal to share later. World is harder to live in now, but most important thing in whole world is to share food. Nothing better. " | **Disclaimer: I'm really sorry, after writing out the nonsense below, I realised I had read the prompt incorrectly and kind of left out the part in which 'nobody found out the character was immortal/not evolving.' Thought I'd post it regardless:**
"Kevin, just pass me the pad." Kevin is my 'older' brother. Well, he's my foster brother. I was adopted by the Kleindron family earlier this year. This marks the .. well, I don't even know how many families I've been fostered too. Probably too many would be an accurate guess. My name is Sam and I'm a 4 million year old 14 year old, cursed to live out my life in this teenage body for the rest of eternity.
"Oh so you want me to beat you on Mario Karts Zx20+Alpha and you also want me to pass you the pad? Where will it end, Sam? Where will it end?" replied Kevin.
"You can pass it with your mind, Kevin, I have to get out of my bubble seat to reach it. Stop being a butthole."
"I don't have a butthole, Sam. I have evolved beyond the need of a butthole. I am butthole-less. You know this." professed Kevin in a very condescending tone.
"Is that why so much shit comes out of your mouth?"
The pad hurled telekinetically across the room directly in to my face. Kevin sat laughing in his chair as I nursed the place on my head it had thundered in to.
"Right, that's it. Let's go. Year 2000-style." I stood up, and put up my dukes, waving Kevin on while pretending the now large red mark on my head didn't hurt.
Kevin rose. All 9ft of him. His 4 arms began warming up.
"Let's go, Goro."
"Who the fuck is Goro?" asked Kevin.
I charged straight at him ignoring the fact he could read my every thought. He dodged my sweet roundhouse kick attempt and began to float in the air, goading me on to have another go at him.
"Every time we fight this happens. When will you learn?" boasted Kevin.
I charged again. I failed again.
"This isn't fair. You know exactly what I'm going to do each time I attack, you Psycho Mantis prick."
"Nobody understands your references, Sam. You need to update your references." barked Kevin who was still floating in the air, his 4 index fingers pointing towards me.
"They're really apt references!" I screamed as I launched another assault.
Enter my Foster Dad. "What is this ruckus?! Sam, are your trying to fight your big brother again?" He stood at the kinetic door, his 9 eyed, impenetrable skinned face painted with anger. "I should have known the second I sensed that sweet roundhouse kick you attempted before that there was trouble down here."
"I'm over 4 million years old, Dad. I can fight whoever I want to fight!"
"Not while you live in my space house!" he bellowed. "Now get to your biometric chambers before I put one of my 19 feet down."
| 2015-12-09T06:20:25 | 2015-12-09T05:58:59 | 78 | 21 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | Have you ever been summoned? Like, literally pulled through fucking space and time on someone else's whim?
WELL, LET ME TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED THE OTHER DAY.
So, I'm chilling in the park, minding my own business and BOOM. I'm suddenly in this old warehouse, surrounded by -and I shit you not- fucking teenagers. Like fourteen, TOPS.
"Mammon?" squeaked one of them. Black kid that looked a lot like me around his age.
I sighed. I reached into my pocket, lit a cigarette and projected the most deadpan look I could muster.
"Of course the fuck not," I said, "I'm the dude, the now angry dude, who was enjoying a '40 -which I just opened- when out of nowhere I get pulled into wherever the fuck this is. How did you even manage this shit? And why do my balls itch?"
"Uh... I mean..." He stammered a bit, "people don't usually get--"
"--Get huh?"
"Get pulled thr--" He started getting flustered.
"Pulled where?" I wasn't letting up.
"Through the ast-"
"Through what, asshole?"
He took a deep breath, "Not an asshole, the--"
"--No, I'm calling you that."
"Why are you being such a dick?" the kid yelled, finally.
"I don't know, how about you just summoned me through a fucking portal. And my balls still itch. And I swear to god, if I have anothe--"
A girl spoke up, "Can we send him back?"
The kid started thumbing through the book, so I snatched it out of his hand.
"Where did you get this anyway?"
"I found it. Gimme that back!"
"No. Found it? Really?"
"Really."
"Really, really?"
"Yes!" he screams at the top of his lungs.
"Alrighty, I'll be borrowing it then. Indefinitely. Or until I can set it on fire, whichever comes first."
"We're not going to let you do that."
"Do you have any weapons?"
"No."
"I don't think you can stop me," I said, walking for the open door. "If this ever happens again, I'm calling your parents. Don't do drugs, Satan is bad."
Anyways, now I have a cool new coaster, but it'd be sweet if it would stop whispering at night. | (Warning: I kinda read the prompt wrong so in the story they actually summon a demon. I am so sorry but I hope you still take the time to read my story.)
“Shit!” I mumbled, pressing my talons into my temples and messaging them. “That felt like you put me in blender and just went-VRAVRAGSRVGVGARVAR” I mimicked the sound of a blender as I flailed my arms in front of me. I get no reaction from my quite brilliant demonstration. I peer down at the kids who had summoned me. There’s a fat kid, an emo kid and a buff kid. “Huh,” I grin, thoughtfully stroking my chin. “Quite an odd bunch we got here.” The fat one looks about ready to shit his pants. I lean closer to him and my wings unfurl from behind me. “Is something wrong?” I toy with him. Scaring humans is one of my favorite pastimes. He looks to his two companions for support. They avoid his gaze. He finally gathers the courage to speak. “Um.. yeah.. th-there is something wrong!” His voice is quite adolescent and whiney. I narrow my eyes and further examine the bunch. The emo is staring at me with pure hatred. Huh. Wonder what I did. Finally the buff speaks up. “What the fuck did we do to deserve what you caused?” I’m confused by this accusation. My memory fails me. The emo clenches and unclenches her fist. If these twerps won’t tell me what I did then I’ll have to ask. “Please elaborate, I’ve done quite a lot.” Emo speaks up. “Benny. Benny Williams. Does that name ring a bell? Starting when he was six, he would have dreams that you were appearing in his bedroom and torturing him. When he finally told our parents he was sent to the mental hospital. They didn’t believe him, but he had bruises all over him because of.. because of you! Turns out they weren’t dreams after all. But child support sure thought it looked like he was getting abused so our parents got sent away too.” Hearing all this refreshes my memory. That was quite a fun case. “Of course!” I give a deep laugh and throw my talons into the air. “Man, that was so much fun. You should of seen it! With every single hit you could see the hope drain out of his eyes.” The memory was a fond one. Now all three of the children were trembling with rage. “How adorable!” I said, cocking my head at them and giving them a wicked smile. “You must really care about that.. Benny. But you see, if you’re looking for an apology you won’t find one here. I’m not a good guy. And I am not going to turn into one.” The emo opened her mouth to speak but I cut her off. “Us demons have schedules too. I have business to attend.” The buff smirked and said “But you can’t leave until we release you. You will be here for a while. Get comfortable.” Silly humans. I raised my hand and sent out my shadows. They leaped from my hand and grabbed onto the fat one and the emo. The shadows dragged them down into the Earth and buried them alive. “Or, of course, we can do it my way. If the host of the summoning die I am released.” I leaned in close to the buff. “Guess you didn’t think about that, huh?” The buff was dragged down and united with his siblings in hell. Stupid twerps. | 2016-02-02T22:57:46 | 2016-02-02T20:07:55 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] Once a year you switch bodies with a random person who is best in the world at a certain skill. You can't change back until you discover what this skill is. You've been changed for a month and are starting to get worried. | The pile of clothes on the floor had grown to the point it was level with the bed. Normally this would have driven me crazy. I don't really know what it was about this switch. I just felt...comfortable. I'd been awake for a while, but was just browsing Reddit for a while. Then I noticed the time: 11:45. Going to be late again. I'm mostly muscle memory from this point. Grab my bag and wipe some deodorant on. Smell a few t-shirts in the pile until I find the least offensive one. Cursory tooth brushing. Run out the door to try to catch the bus that will get me to work by 12:10.
Work email pouring in. I could answer it now, but would be faster to do once I'm at the office. So play Pixel Dungeon as the bus lurches towards downtown. I've been in this body for over a month. Still nothing.
...
It's been a year since the switch. Still not in any rush to figure out this skill. Dude seems pretty damn mediocre from what I can tell. If you had told me a year ago this was happening and I would be okay with it, I wouldn't have believed you. Maybe I'm just learning to take things slow. Hey, maybe that's it. Maybe this is the most relaxed person in the world...nothing. Meh.
...
The mountain of porn this guy had accumulated was mind-boggling at first, 18 months ago, but now it all seemed stale and familiar. I'll yank it some other time. Fire up Steam.
...
The PM's really on my ass about getting this thing over to UAT. I said I'd have the controller module done ages ago, but even though it's straightforward, I always was just finding something else to do. Maybe just check Reddit one more time then get around to it. Man, I must be the world's worst procrastinator.
__\*blink\*__ | I groaned, getting up from bed. After making the bed, I went to the restroom to brush my teeth and use the restroom. I looked through my closet and saw the same blue Polo shirts and khaki pants combo that I would wear to work. After changing my clothes and sending the dirty ones through the laundry chute, I walked downstairs, petted the dog exactly three times, and started eating my daily breakfast of cheerios and milk.
"Honey, we're almost out of cheerios," Sally said, as she was making breakfast for the kids. Of course, I never had anything else. My day always had to have cheerios for breakfast, a boiled egg sandwich for lunch, a small snack, and a big dinner.
...
I groaned in frustration in the back of Mark's mind. Every year, on January 2nd, I would switch bodies with another person. The minute that I would realize what their ultimate skill is, I would be transported back to the original body. Usually, it would take me a week to know what skill the person has. Whether it was best singer, artist, dancer, soccer player, joker... These skills were pretty easy to figure out.
I have been in Mark's body for three months now. Three freaking months. Who knows what happened to my body. Maybe it was dead. Maybe Mark was controlling it.
Try as I might, I cannot figure out what was up with Mark. He was so... ordinary. He disliked letting anything new enter his life. His life was the same, day in and day out. I was so BORED watching him.
I knew what he would do next. He would go to work, say hi to the other employees in a tired tone of voice, and get a cup of coffee. He would sit in the cubicle all day and type numbers in the computer. At exactly 4 pm, he would leave work and, if any groceries had to he done, he would get the groceries. He would head home, help the kids with homework, and have whatever Sally cooked for dinner. After doing the dishes, he would watch TV for a while, say good night to the kids, and tuck them in. He would change, use the restroom, and brush his teeth. He would lay in bed with Sally, have sex with her (missionary position and I would dislodge myself to the back of his mind so I did not have to watch. His body knew what to do), and then fall asleep.
Trust me, I tried to make him do various things, like singing or dancing. I tried to get him out of the same motions of petting the dog three times in the morning. Nothing worked! I could not go off the rhythm!
"Honey, you really should try something new... You have and do the same thing every day. At least try some of this breakfast," Sally said.
My eyes widened. That was his skill. He would do the same thing every day, with very little to no change. I felt myself detaching from his body and I reappeared in my own.
"Riley, honey, can you please help me with the groceries?"
"Coming mom!" I yelled, heading outside. I helped her with the groceries, but I made sure to throw out the pack of Cheerios that she brought. Never again will I have Cheerios... | 2016-09-26T07:49:26 | 2016-09-26T07:44:55 | 147 | 68 |
[WP] You tell Siri to call your friend Rob but she mishears you and calls God. God answers. | "Calling God," Siri's robotic voice called out. I rubbed my temples. My husband must have changed his name from "Rob" to "God" yet again. Which was not the worst name he had changed his contact name to. I wasn't in the mood to deal with his shit, though. I shuffled through the papers as the ringing ended, and a voice answered.
"Hello?"
"You asshole, you know I'm trying to plan a fucking funeral and you pull this shit? Stop messing with my phone."
"I'm sorry?"
I groaned. It wasn't my husband. "Listen, I'm sorry, I thought you were my husband, and-"
"I know what you thought, Amanda."
Weird. I didn't recognize the voice, but he knew my name so I guess it was someone I hadn't called before. I ran through a list of friends I hadn't spoken to on the phone before, coming up blank.
"So, whose name did Rob change to God?"
"I hear you shuffling papers. You're still trying to figure out how you'll pay for everything." It wasn't a question, it was an obvious statement. It wasn't really a secret we were having money troubles, and the funeral was going to be costly on my husband and I's meager paychecks. Friends and family chipped in where they could, but it wasn't enough.
"Yeah, still trying. Are you going to make me guess who this is? You're in my phone, so it's obvious I already know you." I took a gulp of my coffee. The sugar left an aftertaste that was unpleasant and sharp. Things haven't tasted very good since this started. "It's a little weird that you're giving me such a hard time right now, with everything that's happened."
"Why don't you let someone else plan the funeral?"
"You haven't seen my mother. She's not eating, just staring into space. My husband doesn't know where to start. He gets frustrated and starts crying."
"So it's up to you, then?" There was the sound of shifting positions on the other line. "You're taking responsibility for planning this, even though you've suffered a great loss yourself?"
I sighed. "I don't want to talk about it. I need to focus on where I'm going to get the money from to pay for the funeral."
"You can't run from grief forever, dear."
"This conversation has taken a weird and intrusive turn. Who the fuck are you?"
"Exactly who it says I am."
"What, God? If that's true, thanks a fucking lot. She was three." I hung up and slammed my phone down. | *Calling God*
I was ten miles south of nowhere and running on fumes when I tried to call my friend Rob to see if he could keep me awake. When Siri made the mistake I figure it would just ring out into a busy signal. I nearly swerved off the rode when a voice answered.
"Hello." He sounded like he was expecting the call.
"God?" I couldn't keep the hesitation out of my voice.
"Yes."
"Bullshit. Who's messing with me?"
"No one Steve. I'm God, don't you believe me?"
I snorted, "Call me skeptical."
He sighed heavily, "No one ever seems to believe me. Fine, your name is Steve you were born in Winchester Virginia your mother is Alice and your Father, Fred, died when you twelve."
"Anyone could get that off the internet." I snapped back, figuring I had whoever this joker was.
"It would not be wise to test me Steven."
"Well you aren't very convincing."
"Your first girlfriend was Angela, you too dated for a month before she dumped you for your brother Roger. When you were six you were scared of lego bricks, and you have a mole on your left ass check."
I raised an eyebrow as I crusied on and took a moment to think. Those were all less known facts about me sure but, "Have you been talking to my mother?"
"No, Steven, I made you. I know all about you."
"Okay creeper, I think this conversation is done."
I reached down and pressed the red end call button; nothing happened.
"Why don't you believe?"
I tried pressing it again, still nothing.
"Look, whoever this is the joke has gone far enough." I tried pressing the end call again and still nothing.
"It's not a joke Steve you called me. If you would just understand that I am God we can move on with this conversation."
I threw my phone out the window before I thought about it and watched it shatter on the highway; it wasn't the best moment of my life but at least the weirdo on the phone was gone.
"Really Steven." The voice sighed.
Had I been on any form of highway I would have died. As it was I screamed like a ten year old girl and swerved all over the road once I realized my phone was once again sitting in it's cradle. After I collected myself I started swearing heavily; the voice seemed to take it in stride.
"Are you done?"
"Yes." I huffed trying my best not to sound like a grumpy child.
"Good. Can we talk now?"
"No."
I reached down and grabbed my coffee because a good swig would set me straight. The taste of iron hit my tongue first and I spit coating the drivers window in red mist. I yanked the car over before something seriously bad could happen.
"Come on man! What the hell! Is that blood?"
"Convinced now?"
"Say that I am, why is it so damn important that I talk to you?"
"No reason."
Click.
"Are you fucking serious?" I screamed to nothing.
I rummaged through my glove box and found some napkins to wipe the blood, coffee, whatever the hell it was off my window. It smeared but cleared my window up enough that I could see I was inches from those old white and orange caution signs. I craned my head up to see the sign but through the muck I didn't see much.
Climbing out of the car I took in a sharp breath. My shock, as you can imagine was total when I saw those big bold letters **Bridge Out**
I reached back into my car and grabbed my phone.
"Siri, call God."
The only thing that came back was a busy signal.
| 2016-12-29T11:11:09 | 2016-12-29T11:08:48 | 64 | 28 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "I don't know if she's all that daft. I think she may be a witch."
"Who? Mad Mary of the Idiot Wood!? A witch? I doubt that very much."
"She could be playing dumb to throw us off, so we don't suspect."
"We are talking about the daft old lady who'll give you vegetables if you dump your chamber pot in that thing behind her house. That one, right?"
"She does have the best vegetables in the county. Could be she needs it for her gardening spells."
"The same lady who gave a shilling for a every dead rat you could bring her then burned all the rats?"
"We were the only village that didn't get the plague. Sounds like a sacrifice to me. And, I'm pretty sure she cursed the barber."
"Cursed the barber?"
"Yeah, my mum says that years ago Mad Mary and he got in an argument 'cause her kid's humours were all out of
balance and he wanted to bleed the tyke. The kid died. Ever since then, he loses more patients than he saves."
"Well, you've convinced me. I guess we've got to burn her, then?"
"I don't see anything else we can do. Can't have a witch in the village."
edit: formatting. | "Hey Glinda! Stop eating that cow meat! You need to cook it first."
Glinda rolled her eyes at Dahv-id. He claimed he could read, and was from a time far beyond ours. But Glinda knew he was just some crazy guy who didn't want her to eat.
"But I'm hungry!" Glinda shouted back. "Can one not partake in a meal during mealtimes?"
"Not that meal. Here, I made some soup. Put your meat in here and I'll make it taste better." At this suggestion, Glinda yielded. Dahv-id's food was good, even if his mind was missing.
"Dahv-id, where did you learn to cook like this?" Glinda inquired.
"In my time, my wife was the workhorse and I worked at home. That meant I had to do the cooking, and I guess I got really good at it."
"Your wife was working and you weren't? What kind of useless man are you?"
"In my time, men and women are equal. Sadly, you will never see it. You won't live long enough."
"Men and women being equal? Imagine that. You tell the greatest stories, Dahv-id."
Somewhere, a wolf howled.
"Glinda, did you hear that wolf? That tells me that the sun has completely set. It's time for me to leave."
"Where to do you travel?"
"Home. Many miles and many years away."
"You are leaving? You know we enjoy having you here, even if you are a little crazy."
David chuckled. "I fixed my room of metal, as you call it. It will take me away."
Glinda sighed. "Well, every good thing must end sometimes."
David climbed into his time machine and went forward into the 22nd century.
Glinda finished her meal and was just about to leave, when David's time machine reappeared.
She cried for joy and ran to open the door. David staggered out and groaned.
"While I was here, my wife figured I would cheat on her, so she took over the world. It looks like I'll be staying here for a while longer. Now, I just remembered. You have to throw away your families' lucky copper pot. It kills you too."
Glinda stopped smiling and simply said "Are you serious?"
***
Quick note: David left for medieval england on July 25th, 2182. He went back on August 21st, 2182, to account for the time he had aged while stuck in England. Not a plothole, I just couldn't think of a way to say it in the story.
| 2017-09-14T12:11:29 | 2017-09-14T09:55:29 | 240 | 97 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T15:04:14 | 2017-09-14T09:12:27 | 85 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T15:04:14 | 2017-09-14T07:33:54 | 85 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 2017-09-14T09:12:27 | 82 | 11 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something. | "but the bread mold saved your grandfather Mort. And the maggots saved Earl's crushed food when everyone knew he was going to die. Sucking out the snake bite didn't save your boy Martha but any other healer would not have even tried. We lost what six of the last twenty babes born under her care? What other village can boast of so many live births. Not to mention her way with the flocks and hogs. Everyone has benefitted from her knowledge."
For a moment there I thought I had swayed them. Even the mayor his hands still holding the rope to bind her with looked both thoughtful and ashamed. Then the preacher spoke.
"Knowledge yes. Forbidden knowledge. Does the good book not say a woman shall remain silent excepting her husband's command. Even if we can attribute such luck to her, and you all mind it's God's glory that saves both flocks from blights and new born babes. No matter how much cleaning you do to barns or washing of hands. For does the book not say all good things come from the Lord. I say again she is a witch meant to lead people from the church. Do you all think I would not notice you send your children to her in secret instead of church for a proper education. As to saving lives who is she to save a man God has chosen to take. But I see you've moved these common folk with your speech so let me ask here and know before your neighbors and God who would go against God and stop the right and blessed hanging of a witch? Who would allow their children to be lead away from the teachings in the good book?"
I must confess I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut.
I wanted her to scream and fight when we arrived. Instead she spoke calmly laying out her case much as I did. The preacher tried to rouse the crowd but his angry words were not answered.
She begged at the end then laughed at us saying we were killing our children believing in a book written so long ago.
I stood in the crowd as she dropped. It wasn't a clean break and the mayor was weeping openly as he helped her to finish it. | Yes, Madison came from our village. Well, not originally, she just wandered in one day in the strangest clothes. I was a boy then, and I didn't like playing with the others very much; I liked to poke around at the edges of town, search for elves and the like. It was just good luck I saw her first; Sun knows what Elder Mason would have done if he'd seen a woman wearing pants. And her name, too: she was obviously a daughter, not a son!
I was always so curious then, but she didn't have many answers. I was pretty sure she really didn't know where she was, or how she had come to be in the Kingdom of Hardin - well, that was what it was, in those days.
Fortunately for her, there was no shortage of land. Lord Falcon had called up a lot of men during the last war with the Kingdom of Darian, and of course they stayed together on the battlefield, trying to protect each other, and a wizard put a fireball right in the middle of the bunch from half a league away. So Lord Falcon had no problem with giving her land, as long as he got his forty percent of the harvest, and no one made any fuss about her being unmarried.
She became known as the "village idiot" pretty quickly. She was always coming around, asking the simplest questions about farming. Old Man Crandell thought she was joking at first, when she asked for seeds to plant an onion bush. And she had all sorts of arguments with the healer: everyone was laughing about her idea of boiling bandages before using them, and she kept saying that how we dealt with night soil was "un-sane-I-tarie", which no one could understand.
What really sealed it was when she actually started *arguing with Lord Falcon* during one of his visits! The last time someone had done that, his body had hung over the road for a month. She was saying that there had been no good reason for the war, that his taxes were too high - all of it true, of course, but you didn't say that sort of thing. He just leered at her and rode away.
I didn't see her for a couple of days after that. I was afraid that he'd had her killed, and I went to look for her in the one or two hours I had each day after the work was done. But she came back on the morning of the fourth day, walking slowly and painfully, with her feet unusually far apart. Anyway, after that, she utterly *hated* Lord Falcon, for reasons she would never quite explain.
Around then is also when she started hiding away in her house. My father ordered me not to talk with her, but even then I thought she was interesting. I'd see her go in and out with bags or boxes full of powders, or useless rocks, or charcoal from the charcoal burners out in the forest. After that started, she would not on any account have cooking fires in her house; even on chilly evenings, you would see her starting a fire out in the back, shivering violently. She was no good with fires either. Somehow she never caught sick though.
So being the "village idiot" was probably what kept her alive, actually. She'd made a right mess of her fields, and wouldn't have had enough to get through the winter even before the taxes.
| 2017-09-14T10:52:25 | 2017-09-14T07:33:54 | 82 | 10 |
[WP] After thousands of years of space exploration, humanity has searched through the majority of the Milky Way. And they’ve discovered something scarier than alien life: the fact that there is none. | Two hundred million twenty five.
The number of years since man first set foot outside our own solar system.
Technological advancements have only made space travel faster, safer, more affordable. Our capacity grew exponentially from then.
With it, our understanding of the galaxy - but also the grim truth.
It was on our thirty second habitable planet we first found it. Signs of prior life. But that was all. Nothing living, only corpses. Not fossils even, beings that were recently alive in the last thousand years or less. Some planets had only simple life forms, traces of what might have been bacterial species, simple fungi, paramecia. Others once held advanced ecosystems not unlike earths.
But all of them were just desiccated corpses now.
One planet after another, we touched down, we explored, we found more horrifying deserts, strewn with bones, lifeless trees, with no water, or water too toxic to consume.
What was killing everything off?
I sat there in the darkness of my lab as I had for the past thirty years, pouring over literature, test results, theories.
There was only one certainty. The time of death of these beings grew exponentially older the further they were from home - from earth.
Earth had a nice little safety net around it of uninhabitable systems. Even the most earth-like planets within the first hundred or so solar systems nearest us proved to never have harbored any life.
It was as if Earth was surrounded by an orb that simply never contained life, and beyond that, droves of solar systems, many of which with recently extinct ecosystems.
And I'm not talking about "relatively recent" in galactic, age-of-the-universe terms. I'm talking about age-of-mankind.
In fact, not a single extinction event was older than the oldest known homo sapien.
I gnawed on the back of my pen, reading through another scientific theory, this one suggesting a sort of galactic climate, that right as it became ideal for life on earth, it became uninhabitable to species of other planets.
But, at this point, galactic climate was a fringe theory, like the flat earth theories of the 21st century, laughable to many. Other than the extinction events, we had no evidence to support the existence of such an anomaly.
It was then that the muted TV in the corner caught my eye. An emergency broadcast. I turned the volume back on to hear the report.
"-exploration flights in the fourth quadrant of the Milky Way have not been in contact in over 48 hours. This accounts for approximately 432 crew across 125 vessels. No electromagnetic interference was expected, astronomers are baffled at this loss of communication..."
The fourth quadrant. A light bulb went off in my head, I pulled up my holographic galaxy map. Earth lay in what we consider the 1st quadrant of the Milky Way. The directional rotation of the galaxy meant the 4th quadrant was always slightly ahead of our own, and the extinction dates also seemed to coordinate roughly with the rotation of the galaxy.
What was it that we were heading towards?
I had to know more, I needed the specific radius at which we lost communications, I needed to know where this all started.
I tapped my phone and spoke, "Jupiter orbital labs, dial Henry Johansen."
The voice that answered was not one of quiet composure that I was used it.
It was one of fear.
| I could hear static crackling in the control room ahead as I stumbled down the ship's corridor. The tiny lights above were as bright as suns, and they danced in slow, nauseating circles. I fell to my knees and vomited, my body jerking violently as I expelled a green liquid, a mix of bio nutrients from Cryo, onto the latticed metal beneath me.
Leon must have heard me because the next thing I knew he was at my side, rubbing my back and offering me a chrome flask.
"Drink, Sarai," he ordered. I tried to take it but my hands shook and my fingers couldn't grip it. Leon tipped my head back and pressed the mouth of the flask to my lips.
The orange liquid burned my throat as if it was acid; I wretched forward.
"Try again," Leon said patiently, wiping my mouth with his sleeve. "Small sips. Come on."
I nodded and took another tentative swig.
"You came straight here?" Leon asked.
With each sip I managed to keep down, colour began to drip back into my world. I became slowly aware -- almost embarrassed -- of my state. A green goo covered my body, reflecting and stretching the light that shone down onto me. I stunk of sweat and vomit and biomatter.
"Just tell me,"--I grabbed Leon's arm--"are the others back?"
Leon nodded, as he helped me to my feet. He didn't force me to the Reconstitution chamber, as I'd half expected, but instead led me inside the control room, an arm around my waist for support.
"Sit," he said, gently pushing me into his chair. I shivered as the cold sweat on my vest pressed against my skin.
"Just- just tell me," I begged. "*Please.*"
He took a long breath before speaking. "They've all checked in. We're the last. They've been waiting for us."
I nodded. It was to be expected. Our journey had been the longest.
"And have they..." I said, unable to finish the sentence.
"Sarai, I know how much you wanted this. That you felt humanity *needed* this. But remember, in the end it doesn't-"
"Just tell me!" I snapped. I didn't mean to yell, but my entire life had been dedicated to this project. To exploring the Milky Way. Hoping -- praying -- to find life. To find reason. To find *hope*. Everyone I'd ever known or loved, had lived and died when I'd been in one cryo or another, searching for salvation. I'd given everything for this.
"*Please!* I repeated.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
My body became numb and my shoulders sank. I felt all the remaining energy leak out of my body, despair enervating me. It had all been for nothing. Now we would add our report to the ranks of every other failed mission, and the world would finally know. *Humanity* would finally know, that they were completely and utterly alone.
"How can we tell them," I mumbled. "How do we tell them that this is all there is."
"It'll be okay," he said. "They'll understand."
For a moment, I just stared at him as if he was mad. Then I felt the hot tears trickle down my cheeks, as if my weariness itself was leaking. My shoulders began to shake.
Leon took my hands and pulled me to my feet. "Look," he said.
He pressed a button and a monitor that had been grey static a moment before, burst to life.
I swallowed hard and felt a shiver run down my back -- not for cold nor from sweat.
The planet we were approaching was still as vivid and beautiful as I remembered ut, despite the centuries that had passed. It still wore its beautiful green and blue clothing, despite all predictions. *My predictions*.
As I watched, an enormous vessel, the size of a country or more, left the Earth's atmosphere.
"Where- where's it-"
Leon pressed another button.
I gasped as another planet came into view. An orb of brilliant reds and blues. Tiny shuttles were too-ing and fro-ing from its surface.
"Is that..."
"Mars," Leon said. "Home to three billion people. So far. And it's not the only planet."
The screen changed again and again, showing more marvels than I thought possible. I felt a wonder I hadn't experienced since I was a child, gazing up at the stars and knowing - *knowing* - that our salvation lay out there. Somewhere.
"We're not alone," I whispered as I wrapped my arms around Leon.
I felt the warmth of his lips press down against my hair.
"We never were."
| 2018-01-05T07:22:34 | 2018-01-05T06:00:59 | 47 | 12 |
[WP] After thousands of years of space exploration, humanity has searched through the majority of the Milky Way. And they’ve discovered something scarier than alien life: the fact that there is none. | All was still on the craggy surface of Io, save for a few small pieces of debris that blew in lazy circles by the force of a frigid morning breeze. Dr. Peter Robbins left out a soft sigh as he surveyed the desolate landscape. His twenty year expedition to near countless planets, moons, and asteroids had been fruitless, and it had been incredibly naïve of him to raise his hopes by even a slight degree on his last stop before returning to Earth.
“Smith, it’s Robbins…” He could barely get the words out; his heart failing to accept what his brain had known for a long time. “There’s nothing here.”
“Figures…” Smith’s voice crackled in Dr. Robbins’ earpiece. “Let’s get out of here.”
After one final survey of the landscape, Dr. Robbins began his return trip to his vehicle. It was a relatively short walk, but it seemed to drag on for ages. One hill passed, then another, and another, with nothing but cold indifference.
And then he saw it.
“Hey Smith,” Dr. Robbins tried not to get too excited. He had encountered dozens of false flags of life on his voyage, and this was probably just more of the same. “Hold on a second. I think I see something interesting.”
“Alright,” Smith sounded mildly annoyed. “Just hurry up, ok? I want to get out of here.”
“Yep.” Dr. Robbins walked across a long valley; slowly at first, but his pace building over time as he approached the landmark. He squinted and blinked as he reached his target, as if he was imagining things. But when he opened his eyes, it was still there.
“Hey Smith…” For several seconds, Dr. Robbins wasn’t sure how to put the sight into words. In the end, he chose the simplest option. “It looks like a lamp…”
He studied the object again, closer this time. The base was about as tall as he was. Thin and green, it was comprised of several strands that flowed down from its shade to the rocky ground like ivy. Robbins reached out carefully and poked one strand with his finger, letting out a small gasp as the material gave slightly to his touch. A small amount of ooze lingered on his glove as his hand retreated.
Smith’s voice crackled through the headset again. “For the love of God, Robbins. What would a lamp be doing on one of Jupiter’s moons?”
“I don’t know…” Dr. Robbins stared in awe at the tacky plaid lamp shade. It looked just like something he would have seen in a living room on Earth. “It’s just strange, is all.”
“Look,” Smith said. “I’ve indulged this fantasy of yours for ten years longer than I should have, but now I have to put my foot down. There. Is. Nothing. Here. You said the goddamned words yourself. I want to go back to Earth. I want to see my family. I want to associate with someone who isn’t wasting billions of NASA’s dollars chasing some fairy tale about alien life. I am ordering you to return to the ship."
Dr. Robbins let out a gasp. For a second, he could have sworn he saw the lamp’s base move. “But Smith…”
“Now!”
Robbins felt his shoulders slump. After one last longing glimpse, he turned his back on the landmark, and dragged his feet toward Smith’s ship. “Yes, Captain.”
| I could hear static crackling in the control room ahead as I stumbled down the ship's corridor. The tiny lights above were as bright as suns, and they danced in slow, nauseating circles. I fell to my knees and vomited, my body jerking violently as I expelled a green liquid, a mix of bio nutrients from Cryo, onto the latticed metal beneath me.
Leon must have heard me because the next thing I knew he was at my side, rubbing my back and offering me a chrome flask.
"Drink, Sarai," he ordered. I tried to take it but my hands shook and my fingers couldn't grip it. Leon tipped my head back and pressed the mouth of the flask to my lips.
The orange liquid burned my throat as if it was acid; I wretched forward.
"Try again," Leon said patiently, wiping my mouth with his sleeve. "Small sips. Come on."
I nodded and took another tentative swig.
"You came straight here?" Leon asked.
With each sip I managed to keep down, colour began to drip back into my world. I became slowly aware -- almost embarrassed -- of my state. A green goo covered my body, reflecting and stretching the light that shone down onto me. I stunk of sweat and vomit and biomatter.
"Just tell me,"--I grabbed Leon's arm--"are the others back?"
Leon nodded, as he helped me to my feet. He didn't force me to the Reconstitution chamber, as I'd half expected, but instead led me inside the control room, an arm around my waist for support.
"Sit," he said, gently pushing me into his chair. I shivered as the cold sweat on my vest pressed against my skin.
"Just- just tell me," I begged. "*Please.*"
He took a long breath before speaking. "They've all checked in. We're the last. They've been waiting for us."
I nodded. It was to be expected. Our journey had been the longest.
"And have they..." I said, unable to finish the sentence.
"Sarai, I know how much you wanted this. That you felt humanity *needed* this. But remember, in the end it doesn't-"
"Just tell me!" I snapped. I didn't mean to yell, but my entire life had been dedicated to this project. To exploring the Milky Way. Hoping -- praying -- to find life. To find reason. To find *hope*. Everyone I'd ever known or loved, had lived and died when I'd been in one cryo or another, searching for salvation. I'd given everything for this.
"*Please!* I repeated.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
My body became numb and my shoulders sank. I felt all the remaining energy leak out of my body, despair enervating me. It had all been for nothing. Now we would add our report to the ranks of every other failed mission, and the world would finally know. *Humanity* would finally know, that they were completely and utterly alone.
"How can we tell them," I mumbled. "How do we tell them that this is all there is."
"It'll be okay," he said. "They'll understand."
For a moment, I just stared at him as if he was mad. Then I felt the hot tears trickle down my cheeks, as if my weariness itself was leaking. My shoulders began to shake.
Leon took my hands and pulled me to my feet. "Look," he said.
He pressed a button and a monitor that had been grey static a moment before, burst to life.
I swallowed hard and felt a shiver run down my back -- not for cold nor from sweat.
The planet we were approaching was still as vivid and beautiful as I remembered ut, despite the centuries that had passed. It still wore its beautiful green and blue clothing, despite all predictions. *My predictions*.
As I watched, an enormous vessel, the size of a country or more, left the Earth's atmosphere.
"Where- where's it-"
Leon pressed another button.
I gasped as another planet came into view. An orb of brilliant reds and blues. Tiny shuttles were too-ing and fro-ing from its surface.
"Is that..."
"Mars," Leon said. "Home to three billion people. So far. And it's not the only planet."
The screen changed again and again, showing more marvels than I thought possible. I felt a wonder I hadn't experienced since I was a child, gazing up at the stars and knowing - *knowing* - that our salvation lay out there. Somewhere.
"We're not alone," I whispered as I wrapped my arms around Leon.
I felt the warmth of his lips press down against my hair.
"We never were."
| 2018-01-05T06:10:07 | 2018-01-05T06:00:59 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] You are a scientist who discovers that souls do exist. You also find out that humans are the only animals that do not have them. | Ironically it was a woman named Ginger Daniels that had the first soul they could calculate. I remember looking down at the list, all 57 names, and wondering what it meant. As number 58, I was a rarity, a human with a soul.
But that was simplifying it too much. I had never really been one to put stock in religion and I certainly didn't believe God made us in his image. There were very few things in common between Ginger and myself.
Number 56 [Erika Carter] and Number 57 [Naoko Kondo] sat in the same room as me, filling out questionnaires about their childhoods. We had shared our answers about our childhoods. We had taken tests to show education level. They even had us taking online quizzes, just to see if something matched up.
I knew a lot about Erika and Naoko. And I am sure they knew a lot about me. I wasn't sure, in the end, it mattered much.
Erika was overweight. 29. Short. Foster kid. Alchie father. Hated anything to do with politics and knew the TV lineup of TLC. Married to a mechanic and raising three kids.
Naoko barely spoke English. She grew up in Tokyo, moved to Canada. Her mother was dead. Her brother was married with kids. Naoko didn't want them. She wanted to write a book of modern Haikus. She was 32.
And then there was me, 28, unmarried, I had one kid, but he was my nephew. He lived with me during the school year, going back home to his dad during the summer. I owned two dogs and a cat.
There was nothing connecting us together, minus our gender. But surprisingly 56% of the Souled were male.
So we stayed in this crappy little room taking test upon test, as they tried to figure out what connected us. What made us different. And when they got frustrated, we might end up just like ginger.
Naoko knew it.
Erika did not.
We had spoken about it in rudimentary Japanese. I took it in college. And Naoko knew we were going to die here, that we weren't leaving. They wanted our souls, with or without us. | "I've... I've got it!" I had the sudden urge to shout 'Eureka!', but the elation that doing that would cause likely would disturb the sample.
"What do you mean?" I heard Marco ask. He phrased it normally, but I could tell by his voice that he was excited.
"The soul. The soul! I've got a sample of it!" I hurried to set it down in a place where it wouldn't be disturbed, and turned to my partner of ten years.
"You're not joking, right?" He asked, reaching his arms out. I resisted the urge to run full charge into an embrace with him, and instead walked into his arms, and whispered 'yes'. We stayed like that for a moment, before turning back to the sample. I noticed tears in his eyes, but didn't say anything.
"Do you know what this means Laura?" He said, staring down at the light blue, translucent fiber.
"No, silly, tell me what it means."
"Oh, shut it you. Let me be excited. This sample was from a rat, right?"
"Johnny 8, yeah."
"I still can't believe you used numbers when naming them."
"Not my fault I have a horrible naming sense. I'm a scientist, not a poet." I shrugged, and began to collect more samples from different animals that we had around the lab. House cats, dogs, gerbils. In all of them, I managed to collect the same cyan material. At least, it seemed to be the same. I hadn't gotten the chance to compare them under a microscope, and that would tell me how much, if any, these souls varied per species and per individual.
"Hey, are you ready?" I looked up to Marco standing above me. He had one of the soul-extractors(I had named them) in his hands, and was gesturing to his own arm.
"Well, I've collected every other sample. I suppose this one's the last." Carefully, I took the soul-extractor from him, and pinched his arm with it. I pulled, and...
Nothing. No slight tug as the soul resisted. No thin blue thread from his arm. Had I done it wrong? I tried again. And again. And again. Each time, we both got more and more discouraged. Each time, we thought about growing possibility that...
"Humans... Don't have souls, do they?" He said it first. When the idea was finally put to words, I began to cry. How could everything else have a soul, but humans, whom we judged to be superior, not?
To be safe, we tried it on me as well. No success. My crying turned into bawling.
"Mommy, what's wrong?" Lucy, our daughter, walked into the room. I tried to calm down, to explain away my tears, but I couldn't. Instead, I simply tried the soul-extractor on her arm, desperate for any ray of hope.
"Lucy, go to your room, and stay there! We're trying to figure something out right now!" Marco said, crossing his arms. Lucy cowered at the loudness, and began to sniffle, nodding.
All the while, I watched as the bright blue strand I had just pulled from her small arm flake away into the air.
___
If you liked this, please check out my subreddit, /r/OpiWrites, for more stories! | 2018-01-27T04:10:50 | 2018-01-27T04:05:20 | 237 | 128 |
[WP] Just as the almighty villain is about to strike down the destined hero, they notice that said hero is only 15 years old. Disgusted, they demand to know who would force such a massive responsibility onto a child, and take it upon themselves to raise this kid as he should have been raised. | "Heh. How old are you, boy?"
The child watched his reflection shifting on the mirrored armor of his foe. "Eighteen," he lied.
"And how many years have you been alive for?" The Emperor chuckled.
"Fifteen," the boy mumbled.
The Emperor pulled off his helmet. The boy was shocked to see a man, and not a monster. The Emperor was not unattractive, strong chin, beautiful blue eyes that drew you in. He hadn't won over all the people by war alone.
He held out a hand for the boy. "They took your childhood from you." He gave a stern look out the window of the tower. It was a strong contrast to the smiling face of a moment ago. "It should be cherish. They should have sent a man, a wizened old warrior. More skilled, and ready to die."
"I volunteered," the boy said, taking the Emperor's hand.
"Ha! Ah, lad, they shouldn't have given you the chance. As close as you got, an experienced soldier would have slain me. Come now, you've little time left to be a child. Let's make up for what you've lost. Tell me, have you ever had ice cream?"
The Emperor lead him down to the kitchens, and they spent the rest of the day talking. As far as the boy could remember, it was the longest he had gone without any mention of combat. What he didn't realize was how the Emperor had made sure to find out where the boy had come from.
The following morning, when a caravan came upon the small temple-city of Vertu, they were greeted by the flayed corpses of the priests. The rest of the town was laid out in the streets and courtyards. Just more victims of the Emperor's wrath.
| Each stir at the broth came along with a shake of his head. How couldn't anyone see the stress weighing down on this poor kid's shoulders? Why did fate place such an lacking boy in such an important role?
It didn't make sense, and so Ferronyr stirred, making sure the broth was perfect for this confused youngling who once thought himself a hero. He was not. He was just a lost urchin who'd read too many stories, had armed himself with fake bravery, and had a long strike of fortune.
Ferranyr could've slaughtered him a year ago, that night when the capital blazed and burned and crumbled. But no, there was still some love and compassion in his rotten heart. And so he'd taken him under his wing, hoping to show him what a childhood really was.
Ferranyr gazed at the broth, nodded, and went to the kitchen. Ydrai, as the boy had called himself, was waiting idly on the chair. He was clad in white pajamas, and he was lost in the empty space in front of him.
"Here, Ydrai," Ferranyr said, "feast. And if all of it you finish, then you will earn a dessert."
Ydrai flashed a smile, and snatched the spoon beside him. Then, he devoured the soup as if he hadn't eaten in too long of a time. Which, wasn't the case at all.
Ferranyr's heart lilted with mirth as he witnessed splashes of broth smeared all over his adopted son's face. "A splash there," he said, pointing at Ydrai's cheek. "Two stains there. There's a lesson to learn in the food: if you devour the plate, make sure to not leave remnants. A dirty and poorly executed job is easy to spot."
"Yes, father," Ydrai said idly, and his eyes danced toward the floor, where they stood, as if ashamed.
"Now, the distant bells of slumber are calling," Ferranyr said, and patted his son's shoulder. "The dessert is in the kitchen, seek it if you please. I will leave now."
The silence hung, and Ferranyr left the room. He headed to his bed, where he closed his eyes and was immediately taken to better, more colorful worlds.
Where, from that night, he would forever dwell.
For Ydrai was sixteen, and a year was enough for his young mind to understand that naught could change who fifteen tortuous years had made of him.
However, Ferranyr had taught him a thing or two. But one of his favorites was when he could finally accept that cold blood murder is no different than traditional murder.
And so, as Ferranyr drowned on the blood gushing out his sliced throat, Ydrai stared, eating his dessert at a glacial pace.
It was messy, and quick, and easy to spot.
"Sorry, father."
---------------------------
/r/ahumongousfish | 2018-09-20T23:37:20 | 2018-09-20T18:11:25 | 48 | 35 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | I'm the first to admit I drew the short straw in the magic lottery. Oh, people assumed I would be all for it on M-day, me the 'Professional Magician' finally getting the appreciation I deserved. Finally my parents would be proud of me, finally my wife wouldn't lie and tell people I was an accountant at parties.
​
That's all well and good except for the fact I hate fantasy books, Narnia can get stuffed and Tolkien bores me to tears.. I know my old 'magic' was slight of hand, misdirection and the odd marked deck, but given my lack of exciting alternatives and the slightly iffy logic behind M-Day itself... that was the magic I was given.
​
So now I can throw a playing card against a wall and don't even have to look, I know it will stick, with your initials scribbled over it. I know I can smash your phone on the ground only to have it reappear in an orange. I barely have to cough before a stream of cards flies out of my mouth and every hat I own has to be checked for rabbits with each wear. And if I place a hand anywhere close to my son's head I come away with a shiny silver dollar or worse.. his nose... magic or not that scared him half to death.
​
'Oh but surely you can fly now?' say my friends. NO, I can float 8 inches off the ground while clamping my legs together like I need the bathroom, doesn't matter that now it's done without any angles or shadows, that's all I could do before and that's all I can manage now.
​
I'm basically immortal now, not that death has any real impact these days... last week I got hit by a bus but by the time the crowd reached my body, various resurrection spells at the ready, all they found was a coat. Suddenly I was behind them all waiting for my applause, which never came because now people see dragons every other minute and death is more of a minor inconvenience. Of course the temporal shift of me going from bus to pavement to choreographed reveal did a right number on my stomach and I vomited almost immediately into a bin... which of course was another stream of playing cards. | The two figures stood in the street. One, a man covered in a flowing black robe, face obscured by a blank silver mask, raised his hand above his head, pointing a wand at the opposing figure. Opposite him, merely metres away in the twilight night, his foe simply raised her hands, slowly forming runes in the air, body enshrouded in a strange silk tunic that seemed to flow over her. The tension was palpable, both ready to kill, but neither wanting to make the first move. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man struck.
"Avada Kedavra!" A bolt of green shined in the night, flying at the woman, who merely sidestepped, and faster than the eye could trace, moved her hands in a unicursal hexagram, screaming a word in an unknown tongue. A blast of enemy soared at the cloaked man, who waved his wand before him, a shield blocking the blast.
The two traded more and more blows, energy showering the area in flashes of light, and sometimes even darkness. Well... A deeper darkness. The noise was incredible, and as the two became more heated, the air began to shimmer with magic, the thundering boom of violent energy becoming constant as they became faster and faster. Until a sonic boom blasted both apart, a flash of lightning lancing the floor beneath them.
To the side of the figures, a house door opened, and out strolled a young man, dressed in nothing but pajama trousers, and a furious expression etched onto his face.
"ENOUGH! Some of us are trying to sleep you try-hard, baby-bitch magic fuckwits!" The character's voice was... Just like any other. No power or thunder behind it. The woman smirked.
"This is magical business, it does not concern you child!" At the sound of the word child, a stroke.of thunder boomed across the sky.
"Boy? BOY?! I am the most powerful magician here you two-time little pixie prick!" The world shined for a second, and suddenly, it was day.
"How did you...?" The woman's face suddenly changed, magic of this magnitude should not be possible! Before she could say anything more, a bacon sandwhich appeared in the man's hand. At which point her original opponent piped up.
"Wait, you can't make food using magic, that violates Gamp's law of elemental transfiguration!" Though his face was covered, his shock was evident in his voice.
The young man simply finished chewing his bite, raising an eyebrow as he did. Upon finishing, he spoke.
"Mate, it's magic. It has no rules. Honestly, all of you are out here with your own rules and shit as if magic makes sense. It doesn't. It's fucking *magic*. Now. Again. Fuck off." With that, the day turned back to night, and the man and woman found themselves... They didn't know where. They cried out in shock as their minds tried to comprehend that wherever they were, physics worked differently. It was impossible for their minds to comprehend. After all, they weren't supposed to enter other dimensions.
And back at the little English street, the boy simply entered his house again, his half eaten sandwich disappearing into nothingness. He closed the door with a muttering about "Bellends. It's magic. There are no rules..." And made his way to bed, pausing time as he did. He would sleep uninterrupted this time. It's not like he needed to sleep. This was just his favourite thing to do.
| 2018-10-16T03:09:42 | 2018-10-16T02:17:50 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | I'm the first to admit I drew the short straw in the magic lottery. Oh, people assumed I would be all for it on M-day, me the 'Professional Magician' finally getting the appreciation I deserved. Finally my parents would be proud of me, finally my wife wouldn't lie and tell people I was an accountant at parties.
​
That's all well and good except for the fact I hate fantasy books, Narnia can get stuffed and Tolkien bores me to tears.. I know my old 'magic' was slight of hand, misdirection and the odd marked deck, but given my lack of exciting alternatives and the slightly iffy logic behind M-Day itself... that was the magic I was given.
​
So now I can throw a playing card against a wall and don't even have to look, I know it will stick, with your initials scribbled over it. I know I can smash your phone on the ground only to have it reappear in an orange. I barely have to cough before a stream of cards flies out of my mouth and every hat I own has to be checked for rabbits with each wear. And if I place a hand anywhere close to my son's head I come away with a shiny silver dollar or worse.. his nose... magic or not that scared him half to death.
​
'Oh but surely you can fly now?' say my friends. NO, I can float 8 inches off the ground while clamping my legs together like I need the bathroom, doesn't matter that now it's done without any angles or shadows, that's all I could do before and that's all I can manage now.
​
I'm basically immortal now, not that death has any real impact these days... last week I got hit by a bus but by the time the crowd reached my body, various resurrection spells at the ready, all they found was a coat. Suddenly I was behind them all waiting for my applause, which never came because now people see dragons every other minute and death is more of a minor inconvenience. Of course the temporal shift of me going from bus to pavement to choreographed reveal did a right number on my stomach and I vomited almost immediately into a bin... which of course was another stream of playing cards. | I stalked ahead, fully aware of the traits of the devastating weapons loaded in my sack and pockets. I tried to recall the symbols I’d need to create any number of permutations. My opponent stared me down and began to chant. I huff at her, with her clumsily thick blue robes and childish conical hat. I’ve trained my body and mind constantly for years.
I can no doubt dodge whatever she throws at me from the end of her plea with whatever nonsensical deity for power. I kneel down and swiftly complete the outer circle, sketch a series of small, sharp angles inside, and write down a single symbol in the center - a triangle pointed towards me, with a horizontal line across it. My materials are simple, and so is my required circle.
She cries out “Bolt!” and I roll over my circle, narrowly avoiding a narrow strip of lightning from the sky. She huffs, aware that whatever comes next, she must move as swiftly as possible, and pants for breath, watching me suspiciously as I place my left hand under the flap of my sack and my right into the center of the circle, leaning forward to pour out sand into the circle. I focus on the form of the silica and force a powerful handle out of the pile, ending with a fearsome, jagged point of brittle, semi-fluid flint. The handle glistens in an ethereal rainbow as the tip melds out of the end, black as pitch, deadly and primitive.
I stumble forward as my foe shrieks “FIRE!!” It catches on my trousers and begins searing through the thin material. I rapidly unzip my left leg and kick it off in a panic, trying not to warp or shatter my (admittedly fanciful) spear. I dump a pile of sand from my sack onto the leg, stifling the dancing flames as I hear more chanting begin. How is she doing this so quickly? I hear her speaking quite openly to Shiva as I close in. Whatever she’s up to, I need to make my move properly.
I stab towards her side, managing to cut open a sleeve on her robe, letting out a trickle of blood from her arm, but she doesn’t respond, continuing her prayers to bring me a “cold death.” I don’t want to know what that means and strike with the butt of my spear to her midsection. She tears up, gasping in pain, buckling down to her knees and then picks up right where she had been a second ago, more quietly. I don’t have time to think, and begin beating and cutting at her, trying to use non-deadly force. After all, this girl is clearly childish, and looks terribly young now that I knocked off that silly hat of hers. She stubbornly cries out, “BLIZZAGA!” My entire being numbs as the cold gathers around my body, moisture from the air and my sweat forming solid ice as I struggle to breathe. Everything... is...
*The girl panted and cried from pain, bruises and cuts covering her petite frame. Her opponent stood before her, vanquished, the strange and warped spear crumbling into sand. “Oh, just great. This damn sand will stick everywhere!” She struggled to maintain consciousness as she staggered to her feet, leaning heavily on her oak staff for support. “Hey, Big Brother... if you ever see this...” the mage hobbled away, letting her spell dissolve together with her imaginings of the Winter. “Try telling me again how useless magic is...” She sighed and decided it was probably best to call a couple of her friends. * | 2018-10-16T03:09:42 | 2018-10-15T22:07:03 | 42 | 26 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | The Bender was out of breath, his rock had connected with the Wizard's head as she finished hastily scribbling on paper, after rounds of trading subtle earthbending techniques and strange spells. The Wizard was knocked over and stopped moving. He cautiously approached her and noticed a distinct lack of breathing. His eyes fell to the piece of paper, and his curiosity got the better of him. He picked it up and unfolded it. It read:
"I prepared Explosive Runes this morning. Bitch"
The awful realisation set in the Bender's mind as the paper burst into a fearsome explosion, killing him instantly.
A few hours later, the Wizard got up, and thanked whatever she believed it for the fact that Feign Death was only a third level spell.
| Streaks of light paint the night sky as a girl sings her heart out. The intense melody of “Sayonara no Tsubasa” fills up the surrounding along with explosions from the battle between the Unicorn Gundam and the girl’s Boyfriend’s YF-29 Durandal.
The Unicorn Gundam in Destroy mode fires it’s beam magnum along with its 3 shield funnels firing their dual Gatling guns at the Durandal. The Durandal dodged the shots while utilising the different forms it has. Then in Battroid mode fires it’s heavy beam gun and beam cannons along with a barrage of missile at the Unicorn in which it uses its shield funnels to form a triple shield while using a Newtype enhanced I-Field to block the beams and using its head Vulcan to intercept the missiles.
“I’ve had enough of this!” both Pilots exclaimed.
The Unicorn’s Psychoframe then changes from Blood Red to Aurora Green. “Let’s do this! UNICORN!” with a shout the Unicorn emits a bright light, which is the Psyco-Field when a Newtype resonates with a Mobile Suit using a Psycoframe.
The Durandal speeds towards the Unicorn just as the girl reaches the chorus, “Sono tsubasa wa BARUKYURIA!” Then the Durandal emits a streak of yellow light which connects to the singing girl, a clear sign of a Fold Resonance, which happens when Fold Waves emitted from singing resonates with the Fold Quartz System of the Durandal.
Thanks to the power up from such phenomenons, the battle becomes even more fierce and the dark night sky is painted with various colours, from the red and blue beam blasts to the green and yellow effects from each phenomenon.
With one final push, both Unicorn and Durandal speeds towards each other, with the clear intent to finishing the fight with one final move. With the Unicorn enlarging it’s beam tonfa and the Durandal in Fighter mode charging it’s beam gun boosted by the Fold Waves emitted by the girl, both mechas fly toward each other at high speed.
| 2018-10-16T02:22:26 | 2018-10-15T22:23:51 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] There is a magic artefact, with no power but to provide context-appropriate background music in the mind of its wielder. | The Box was usually too soft to hear unless I focused on it. But sometimes, at critical moments, [the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlYCxbBZUCY) would blow up, demand my attention.
***
I remember the first time I ever heard the Box. I was a 17-year-old girl holding her one and only family's hand as he died.
"Don't go," I said to him for the thousand time.
Dad smiled at me. It was painful to watch. Dad's smile was beautiful, a marvel. He smiled while we were lived on the street, and found a particularly warm subway vent to spend the night on. He smiled when I came back from school with all A's. He smiled when he picked me up from school after a backbreaking day of physical labor or being ridiculed by rich snobs who made a 1000 times more than him but maybe worked a tenth as hard.
He smile was glorious, like the sun had suddenly risen and smiled on me.
Now it looked like the smile of a dying man. In the end I guess it broke him. Not him dying, but me. Leaving me alone, seeing me cry on his arm. And he still smiled.
The he reached forward with a trebling left hand, fist clenched. His eyes locked onto mine. He couldn't speak. I still don't know how he got it or since when he'd had it. I just held his hand and he pressed the Box - a thing as big as a matchbox, and I rocked back as [the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRKJiM9Njr8) hit me. I'd heard music of course, but I hadn't *heard* it. It was like putting on really good headphones for the first time, or going to your first concert but much, much more.
Dad gave one last smile, patted my hand that was holding the Box.
***
I was applying for college. I kept the Box always on me, under my shirt, kissing bare skin, and I found a particularly good one at my high school library. Not well ranked, but it was really cheap. Ridiculously so. I was hoping I'd get a scholarship from other colleges, but if I didn't.
And then [the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) started.
I closed the tab.
***
College acceptances were...an experience. I'd take a deep breath, open up my email, and the see the unopened email. And they don't say, "Congratulations!" or "Sorry." They say "Regarding your application..." as if it's the fucking cliff hanger at the end of chapter. Read Inside to see what the decision was and whether you will get any money! Ugh.
Luckily I had my own personal detector.
And so when before I'd even opened the email the college had sent me, I heard [the music](https://youtu.be/VbxgYlcNxE8?t=229), and I smiled.
***
I was a junior, at some bar in Astoria. I think it was Astoria. There were a bunchy of people I knew there. How were there so many people? I remember thinking. Ah. It was my birthday. That seems important. Why would I forget it? Yes, alchohol. It was the first time I'd ignored the music, in fact I don't even remember what song had played, but I'd dismissed it. I'd earned gettng into a bender.
But it was time to go home.
I unsteadily got up and went to go out the bar, hoping to flag a taxi to get back to my dorm. My arm reached for the door, and [the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbeEO58Hlfo), or, a note really, played.
I decided to gather a couple of other friends and get a cab together.
***
It all came down to one exam. An undergrad degree then those extra years of law school. One fucking exam.
The bar.
It didn't help that I constantly heard [the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15JCb6P60Vw) blasting in my head, though I guess it was reassuring. It wasn't sad violin music.
***
I am 30. I'm successful. I think I might have found the one. I have a highrise Manhattan apartment. I only wished Dad could've been here to hold my hand, see my success. I floated on top of a rooftop pool looking at the moon, thinking of the past, the box, and the future.
I thought of everthing.
[The music played in the background to it all](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNcsUNKlAKw) | Since time immemorial, emotions were the drive of mankind. But while everyone had them, some did not get them. For that reason, Sarah was a particular pile of misery. Her clothes were drenched, a wet testament to the rainstorm outside. Her youthful body managed to look broken and old by sheer virtue of hugging the bar like a lover and clinging to her glass of beer.
She considered these objects her friends. They never complained nor expected things of her. The stool had been a friend too but lately it groaned whenever she moved. What did it mean by that?
“Give me another drink”, her voice rasped with a noticeable slur in the tone.
The owner of this place shuffled over towards her. His neatly kept hair waged war on his gruff daddy-style beard. Alex bent down and looked directly at her face. He was handsome with bit of rugged charm and a well-toned body. It was one of the reasons she came here, the other reason she didn't dare think about. Dreams hurt.
“Yeah, sure thing love. That’s great idea.” he said.
Was it? Really? Sarah made her best attempt to meet his gaze with a smile. Social lesson one: Always smile, it disarms people that don’t get how you tick. Which, according to her experiences, included everyone. While her mouth did that on autopilot, her brain racked itself with analysis. Downturned mouth, flared nostrils. Pupils with a dilation and narrowed eyebrows. She was 70% sure it was sarcasm but Alex had played tricks on her before.
“What?” was her contribution to the betterment of their conversation.
Alex gave her a blank stare which sent her into a panic. How should she react now? His face showed nothing at all. Was he angry at her? Did he like her? Had she said something stupid? Well, more stupid than usual?
“It’s none of my business and I wouldn’t mention it, if you weren’t my best customer, which you really should not be”, he finally said and tapped the bar, “but you don’t pick up on much, do you?”
Pick up? Sarah glanced to either side of her stool before glancing back at the man again. She saw Alex suppress a laugh which meant she had reacted correctly.
“Yeah, you really don’t”, he said and snubbed the glass from her hand, “There’s nothing wrong with that. My brother was like that too. Look, you understand music, don’t you?”
The young woman stretched her back and felt a shiver run down her spine. Her own reactions were easy. This wasn’t from the cold of her wet clothes but rather the fact that he looked at her. Sarah shifted her position to the side in a way that accentuated her shape. She hoped it would be enough of a signal but Alex had never once bitten from the offered fruit. Her mind suddenly snapped back to the conversation.
“Yes...? Yes, I mean. Sad songs, funny songs, the lyrics often tell me what it’s about too. I don’t get all of them but music is easy to understand”
“Certainly much easier than humans, am I right?” he said and reached under the counter to grab something. Sarah didn’t answer but her hesitation was seemingly enough of an answer. She tried reading his face again but it told her nothing.
“This is a bartender secret”, Alex said and put a small gem on the counter, “You know how we spent late hours listening to people and always somehow find the right words? This is why. Some sort of ancient magic on that thing will find the appropriate music for any situation.”
The man of her late night dreams and long term aspirations pushed the small object over to her and smiled. Her hands shivered as she reached to pick it up. She knew he was playing a trick on her but she would just play along. That made people happy, didn't it? Maybe? Sometimes? At times it made them even more angry.
“Go ahead, try it. Read the mood from the music”
He was definitely playing a trick on her, wasn’t he? She grabbed the gem and pressed it against her forehead in one swift motion.
“What the...”
Music! Sarah blinked while Alex facepalmed. She looked at him and the music changed immediately into the perfect little tune to accompany situational comedy.
“You are... amused?” the question mark nearly permeated into her voice.
“Very much so”, he said with a wide grin, “No need to jam it into your forehead as if you’re some prime evil or something”
A different tune played in her mind, one that sounded decidedly like a video game.
“Is that a... video game reference?”
“The gem is working, isn’t it? Nevermind, want a glass of water?”
“I think I’d like that very much”
She watched Alex turn around and reach for a fresh glass. As the shirt climbed up his back, she got a good look at his toned stomach. A sudden blush appeared on her cheeks as the gem blasted a classic masterpiece into her mind. The barkeep turned around and gently put down the glass of water.
“Queen sure made a lot of classics, didn’t they?” Alex said with a teasing grin.
“How do you know it was them?” Sarah inquired with raised eyebrows.
“Make a guess”, he shot back with a smirk, “Tell you what, come by tomorrow morning. There’s this herbal tea recipe that works pure magic on hangovers and if you’re really interested, we’ll talk about why Somebody to Love has been playing for months”
She carefully ran her hands over the gem and tilted her head to the side. The tune had changed to something dreamy. He gave her another blank stare and while her mind instantly went into panic mode, the music soothed the storm. Alex was just being sincere. This gem... was her way into that most mythical of all labyrinths: The social life of humans. She sprung up and hugged him with tears on her cheeks, along with a sudden shift in music from the physical contact.
"Shut up Tom Jones", Sarah mumbled and put the gem down. She went back to holding him tight - and perhaps stealing a tiny glance at his bottom here and there. | 2019-04-27T07:21:58 | 2019-04-27T07:19:45 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] Turns our that dragons are laid back underachievers. They could rule as gods, being virtually invincible, but almost all of them prefer a nice comfy nest in the mountains and a nice fat cow every week. | "YIELD, FOUL BEAST OF HELL!" Clang. Clang.
Sir Galahad's blade, the Holy Sword of Antioch, rang on the serpent's adamant scales with a peal like thunder.
The ancient wyrm yawned, and squinted down at the ant like dot of a man to see what the fuss was about. "Ah," it sighed, and its breath leveled a hillside. "Here we go again."
"GO BACK TO THE PIT FROM WHENCE THOU CAMEST!" Clang. Clangclangclang.
"Look, could we do this some other time?" The dragon called down to the human. "Only, it's already past noon, and I just ate..."
"THOU HAST SLAIN THE FAIREST MAIDEN IN THE KINGDOM, SPAWN OF SATAN!" Clang CLANG clang. Pause. Clang.
If the dragon had had eyelids, it would have blinked, or had it had eyebrows, frowned, but as it was all it could do was growl somewhat tectonically. Last thing it had eaten was a cow, though he couldn't vouch for its marital status, it was fairly sure it had seen more attractive members of the species. "You sure?" No accounting for taste, it supposed.
"THOU SHALT RUE THIS DAY!" Sir Galahad cried. "I SHALL HAVE THY HOARD AS A WEREGILD!" Clang. SNAP. The Holy Blade of Antioch broke at the hilt.
"Ah," said the dragon. "You've already progressed as far as gold-based currency again?"
"THOU CANST DEFEAT--What do you mean 'again'?"
"Nothing, nothing," the immortal serpent reassured. "Look, tell you what, here's a nice little cup some nice chap from Aramethea left with me. You take that back, you can tell everyone you slew the dragon and took it from my hoard. And if anyone asks I'll swear up and down its true. Deal? Right, run along now, there's a good paladin."
The dragon watched the knight ride away, and shook its head. They'd be on to nuclear annihilation by dinnertime, no doubt. Render the planet uninhabitable for 50 generations. Again.
Ah well, it was time for a nap anyway. | “You want...what?”
I was face-to-face with one of the world’s most powerful creatures: A dragoness named Shalia. Her scales could shatter the strongest steel, withstand our most brutal siege weaponry, and conquer even our greatest wizards. With a single stroke from her claws she could have turned me into mince meat. Even a single second of exposure to her legendary lightning breath would melt me into a paste. For decades she had been the unofficial deity to the people’s of Craven Hold: They gave her monthly tributes of gold and riches and even human sacrifices. Those often returned in a daze, forgetful of what they had seen. Shalia didn’t speak with the people, and they worshipped her all the same.
I had entered her mountain lair with little to no hope - a magic ring on my fingers, the rudimentary knowledge of how to use it, and my own wits - but I was fully prepared to never leave. When faced with this or persecution at the hands of Craven Hold, I had decided to tempt fate. At least the dragon would make it quick.
That moment hadn’t come yet. In fact, Shalia hadn’t moved an inch since I’d appeared. The little orb of fire I’d conjured in my hands was intimidating me more than she.
“Is there something the matter, tiny one?” She rumbled, her voice powerful and cacophonous yet crystalline and perfect. I flinched when she spoke, her presence overwhelming.
“N-not at all, great lordess of Craven, I was m-merely taken aback by your request,” I spoke quickly, dropping the fire and any pretense of control I had.
“Is it so difficult to understand?”
“I...”
“Thought a legendary dragon like I would seek vast riches, mighty human empires, and the most prestigious lair?”
I glanced around the already vast and breathtaking treasure hoard, large open lair, and thought of the unchallenged might of Craven Hold. All of that paled in comparison to the vanity and lusting for power of dragons in our legends.
“Yes,” I replied simply.
The walls and floor began to shake with each chuckle Shalia made. I placed my hands against a nearby pillar to steady myself.
“Such a silly boy. Is it so wrong to be content with what I already have? You humans can not harm me, I would vaporize you all in an instant if you touched my hoard, and this lair is large enough to fit everything I want. I have no desire to rule over a human kingdom anymore,” Shalia told me, moving, for the first time, to rise to her feet.
I fell to my knees as she rose to her full height, head barely touching the roof of her lair but still tens of stories high. Her gleaming sapphire scales reflected the torchlight around the room, casting a soft glow that made her appear as a goddess given terrible form.
Something incoherent spilled from my mouth as her large head bent down towards me, coming to rest right next to where I’d fallen. Paralyzed with emotion, I waited patiently for death to come. Instead, as I gazed into one of Shalia’s sharp golden irises, she spoke to me.
“It has been a long time since I’ve had any good company, so you will stay here with me. And, “ she spoke, a small symbol burning itself painlessly into my right arm, “you will be my envoy. When I want something, you will go retrieve it for me. I don’t want to do more leaving than none at all. Understand?”
I made another sound with my mouth, still dumbstruck. Shalia’s eye bent in humor.
“Good. Now, about those cows I mentioned...” | 2019-05-25T22:01:38 | 2019-05-25T21:36:52 | 270 | 76 |
[WP] All demons must have a unique summoning ritual, but you didn't want to ever be bothered by mortals, so made your ritual as convoluted as you were allowed to. But someone has just performed it, completely by accident | "Wait so let me get this straight
You made a pentagram out of tooth brushes,"
She interrupts "yeah I make stock photos"
A little confused I continue
"And you ate a peeled lemon, danced in a circle 27 ¼ times all within 57 seconds?"
"My cat was trying to get my pentagram while I ate, it was a bit of a hassle"
More confused why someone would casually eat a lemon, i continue
"I'm beginning to think you didnt do this on purpose, but how could you, it's 3pm on a tuesday during an eclipse!"
"Oh yeah i remember reading that in one of my astrology magazines, it's Saturn again, all those 67 moons are good for something I guess"
It was at this moment that i realized there was no getting out of this.
"So in case the red skin and horns didnt tell you, I'm a demon, you summoned me and now i have to fulfill a request of yours".
I knew what she would say
I could have predicted it with 100% certainty
I would have bet on it if I could
When she said it it still bothered me
"Stock photos, I can't pass up on actual demonic stock photos. These things will sell for so much"
I need to fix the wording in my ritual, screw you saturn | It was a nice Tuesday here in hell and as usual I was looking forward to pancake night . Once again Fred, Nancy , and Enrique all sent their regards via facebook . I loved that at least once a month those regards were " Sorry" "Can't make it" "I been summoned by some teenager" ,usually from California it seemed, because someone spilled his ice cream float tsk tsk guys.
So I'm on my way to what is "more pancakes for me Tuesday" when boom I reappear in what is apparently Earth. Well fuck me. I thought I took care of this. In the many centuries of pancake Tuesday I never once not showed up . Even the glutton Demons cursed themselves because the envy demons got to make many office jokes on Wednesday questioning if they truly were Glutton demons or Envy demons. So many office sensitivity courses . Even in hell we have our version of hell.
Anyways , back to the problem. Why am I here? Back in the day when humanity was fresh demons were excited for a new toy to break . It seems humanity was perfect at first brush . You think humanity invented Lego? We used to use human bones to build toy space shuttles and airplanes kiddos . What do you think the Tower of Babel was built with ? But like every fun thing governments and soy boy demons demanded we "pet" our prey and let them run free range . Talk about rising costs .
Where was I? Oh yes. You see I foreseen the soy boys and government so I thought "Do I want to be at the bidding of free range humans and the far left of hell?" Sorry if I'm a DEMON. The only reason I wanted universal healthcare is so people could live in pain . Cures ? Are you kidding me? Anyways ,yes, I know people hate my asides but part of torture is expectation gone out the window. Surprise. I do love me a good Hitchcock movie.
Anyways there is no way I going to get bored with my job and 70000 years could bore you at a house of ill repute with cocaine titties. Know what I'm saying? So I hatched the perfect invocation chant or so I thought and here I am in this dark bar . Surrounded by men going Sieg Heil with a backwards Swastika right arm raised in a salute with the perfect colored flag and a ruined pancake Tuesday. This isn't going to be pretty
---- I just feel like writing and have no skills or experience thanks | 2020-02-16T08:10:42 | 2020-02-16T07:37:27 | 27 | 20 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | I did it.
I want to scream, “I did it!” but there’s another camper hanging around and if I scream about completing that awful curry dex, he’ll question what I mean.
I’m the champ, you know. Gotta keep up the image.
I smile to myself and let my sweet little Pokémon (not—they’re IV trained, Gigantamax beasts; if you try and complete the curry dex, you get bored very quickly) enjoy their meal.
That’s when it’s happens. That’s when the night sky goes dark, hurricane like winds take over the sky and I even have to hold my Corviknight down.
“Impossible! Is that the Darkest Day? I thought you stopped it!” Generic Camper Number 729 screams.
Yeah, I did. I beat and caught Eternatos. It’s in my boxes, safely stored away thanks to crappy IVs. Isn’t it angry?
“Stay down,” I tell him like the good champ I am. He doesn’t need to be told twice.
My team is strong. They’re trained to be the strongest. I needed them to beat the battle tree—and to maintain my sanity while dealing with the curry. Competitive play had never been of interest to me, but if you spend years living in Pokémon Sword, you get dragged into the fun of battles.
I often wondered if the online battles I fought were against players in my world.
That’s how it comes to my mind. “It’s not the Darkest Day!” I call out—even my Pokémon look are me as I’m dumb. “It’s my way home!”
Because yes, of course, I can beat Pokémon Sword while being in the game. It’s Pokémon, for heaven’s sake! I enjoyed it at first (until the curry dex came to my mind) and considered staying. It’s just sad that I couldn’t go to Sinnoh or Johto, my favourite regions.
Then again, I suppose, the Sword/Shield final was better (and easier. So much easier.) than a freak wanting to build a new universe.
All goes black—as if it’s indeed the Darkest Day again.
I wake up where I left. In my room, in front of my phone. It tells me that it’s in the morning, and that it’s February 2020.
I left in the morning of a Saturday in February 2020.
“Thank god, I didn’t miss time,” I blurt out.
I eye the message, and wonder what it means to me. Surely I haven’t been gifted the ridiculous amounts of PokéDollars, the items or my Pokémon themselves?
False.
Of course, I had the maximum of cash by the end of my adventures. 99,999 PokéDollars—or yen, in the original games.
That’s why the equivalent off 99,999 PokéDollars lies in front of me.
About 900USD.
But next to what will maybe get me through a month at most, is something of much, much more value.
My bag. And in it, the endless depth of what all items I had. Including all existing clothes, countless berries and cooking items—and the Pokémon Box Link.
And six PokéBalls.
I take one, to test. Release the Pokémon in it. Corviknight roars in my dorm room.
The situation dawns me.
“I got Pokémon. I got ******* Pokémon!”
(Worth the days spent on the curry dex.) | I do not remember anymore for how long I've wandered the fog. I remember how it started, I know where I am headed, and I remember every little detail of everything I did since the time I replied yes to a innocuous text message.
This would have been smarter to never answer, or to play a game of something nice before answering. But I guess I'm not a smart man.
See, the message asked if I could survive the last video game I played. Being a little bit of a smart ass, as you cannot die in the game, I answered by the affirmative. Right after that, fog started to engulf the room in which I was and rather than sitting down in front of my computer, I was now in front of a campfire.
The first thing I did, I must admit, is panicking. Anyone in my situation would have done the same. Especially since I knew exactly the game I was in. Ho yeah, I knew back then that I was going to survive. I already knew that death was not an escape.
And ever since, I travel the fog, and each time you wander, your fate is similar.
First, you find a campfire, and you know you are safe for a while. You discuss with some other unfortunates victims, share some stories about your life and, for a little time, you know hope.
Then, the fog becomes thicker and you get up. The scenery changed, shadows and crows begin to form and somewhere within this enclosed place you're finding yourself in... someone is trying to kill you. Sacrificial hooks can be seen and you know they will pierce through your shoulders soon enough.
So you roll up your sleeves and start looking for generators. Generators that will power a switch to open the exit. And if you manage to escape, the result will be the same as if you slowly dies at the hand of the... thing... that haunts the fog, the entity that created this place. You'll find yourself at the campfire, until the campfire is no more. Until the next time a killer is there and the next time you're sent to die
Time after time, death after death, hope starts to fade away, you start to see things from another angle. There is no point trying to escape and slowly but surely, emotions and sensations start to fade. I stopped running, didn't even care about escaping. I ratted out other victims to the murderer and went on about my day. There was no point to this. I was here for eternity.
I don't really know when I first saw the campfire from a new point of view. I had escaped, by letting all other die in my stead, and I was somehow happy about it. Not that I escaped, but that they died, that I took part in it. And the campfire was far away for once. The fog was still here, but I could see much farther through it. Around the campfire, I could see people discussing but I couldn't reach them. The faster I walked in their directions, the more distance was created between me and them. I understood then, that I was no longer one of them.
The next time I would be wandering the fog, I would be catching them, slicing through them, putting them on hook and see them writhe and scream while the entity would tear at their flesh. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt something. Anticipation. I was genuinely happy about it...
It took me some time, to get used to this new role. My old companions weren't going to let themselves die easily. They were way more resilient than I used to be, but that was no longer what I needed to be. I became relentless, always on the chase, always on the lookout for a new victim... a new offering.
I still remember the first time I managed to kill them all, all those presents, one after the other. I got to see their eyes lose all life right in front of me, I could feel their last breath as blood entered their lungs. It brought joy to the entity, a delight so pure even I could feel it. And do you know what happened next ?
The fog lifted. I was once again in what used to be my room, in a now abandoned building. And I bet you understand why I'm here, right? You asked me a question, twenty five years ago, if I could survive the last video game I played. Guess what, I did.
You'll be happy to know that you will not go through what I went through. You will not wake up to find out you're going to be murdered once more, you will not suffer thousand of deaths at my hand. No, I can promise this to you...
You will be dead by daylight. | 2020-02-17T00:45:30 | 2020-02-17T00:26:12 | 31 | 10 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | I blink rapidly, trying to clear my head.
Where am I? Last thing I remember was... a text message? Some sort of joke or prank of some kind. Something to do with a video game.
Images flashed in my head: a beautiful woman on horse back. A violent battle. A silver bird skull.
The woman, I was trying to find her. I *had* to find her.
Beside the warmth of a fire, I laid to rest.
The warmth changed. Instead of a fire, I was now in a tub. I propped my feet up on the wooden tub's side. What was.... I'd been thinking something just now... Huh. Mustn't have been important.
Suddenly something pinched at me. I jerked upright. I wasn't alone in the tub.
"You know I don't find that amusing." I grabbed the crab like creature, tossing it onto the stone floor.
I spoke with the woman. She prodded me to go train with the girl. Sighing, I dried off and clothed myself.
I stepped out into the brisk air of Kaer Morhen. Time to find Ciri and get some training in.
*But first*, I thought, *maybe I can find someone for a few rounds of Gwent.* | I opened my eyes to a warm sun shining from outside a stone arch, and promptly freaked out: *Warm? Sun? I was in the freezing north seconds ago, waiting for the water to boil so I can get some heat inside me with some tea, Where the fuck am I?*
Unprompted a different perspective opened, like a third eye that shouldn't exist. I saw myself, skin darker, as if I stood outside every day, then progressively my vision zoomed out until I was looking at a topographical map of the region. It looked like Greece. The second the thought crossed my mind the map got colored in blue and a name plastered on top: "Macedonia".... shit.
As I proceeded to freak out for the next 30 minutes this third sense would keep expanding, I was able to zoom out and see the entirety of Europe, see what goods were being produced everywhere, see the might of each nation in the world, then a message popped in front of me: "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this would. Good luck".
Hours later I was still staring at the message as a group of people walked in, worried about my health as I had missed the council meetings that morning. Reassuring them I was in fact fine and we should proceed with the meeting in my chamber anchored me to this new reality, the challenge ahead of me and everything I would have to do. As I stared blankly at them reciting data that was already in my head about provinces and budget and military I considered what "Winning" actually meant here, half the world... Europe, India, North Africa, all under my banner, an impossible task... at least I was given the country that came closest to achieving it.
My sudden rising gave pause to my advisers, all of them silent as I walked to the balcony to look over my realm, eventually one of them mustered the courage to approach me:
"Are you certain you are in good health Lord?" He spoke in a strange language but somehow I understood it different from the one during the meeting, I realized it wasn't something I knew and yet in the time it took to process all that I suddenly was able to understand him. Yet another useful twist.
"I was considering how far the previous ruler went, and I think I wish to go further"
"You wish to reunite Alexander's Empire, Lord?
"Much more than that, but first we need to turn west, to Rome" | 2020-02-17T00:38:53 | 2020-02-16T23:11:27 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] While reading your favourite book for the 7th time, you get sucked into it and become part of the storyline. Unfortunately for you, you are forced to be on the antagonists' side and help them defeat the good guys. | *Whoa.* Where was I?
I had just been settling into my couch, letting my mind wander to fantasies about magic and monsters when I felt an odd twisting sensation, like the room was spinning but my body couldn't quite catch up, and I stumbled as I found myself suddenly on solid ground.
"Whoa, mate, you alright?"
I righted myself and glanced behind me in the direction of the voice. A teenage boy with neat dark hair was giving me a concerned look. He wore an old-fashioned dark robe and held what appeared to be a stick at his side. "Uh." I said dumbly. "Yes, I'm alright."
"You sure, Tom?" he laughed. *Tom?* "You seem a bit... off."
"I'm sorry, pardon me asking but who are you?" I asked. I looked around and noticed we were on the grass in front of a massive castle. "And... where..."
My eyes widened. My companion continued to give me weird looks as he answered my questions, but I was no longer listening, only catching words like *Lestrange* and *Hogwarts*.
Tom... Castle... Wands and robes.
Finally, I had a purpose in life. I knew the path ahead would be taxing, both physically and emotionally. I knew that I would have to kill, but it would all be to instill a message of the power of love in an entire generation. Good luck, Harry Potter. I'll be the best villain I can be for you.
Because I'm bloody Voldemort. | This had to be the one of the best parts of the book.
Jakob was in the middle of battle, shooting at an opposing German soldier who had fallen into his line of site. There was at least two entire paragraph's of his inner turmoil about killing someone, about playing god and taking away their life. "But he remembered Belle and how her parents had been beaten ruthlessely in the streets just because of their religion, and his grip on the gun tightened. They could scream their fascist nonsense and try to tear apart his family with a war, but they could never outrun his bullets."
Everytime I get to this chapter my palms start to sweat. Everything else gets blocked out and the words on the page are the only thing that exist to me. It's insane how caught up in this story I get. It's like I can feel the wounds Jakob gets, his gun in his bandaged and worn hands, the smell of gunpowder and desperation. I get an adrenaline rush everytime I read this book.
Then, the image in my head feels a little too real. The smell a little too strong.
I must have fallen asleep and got a lucid dream. The sky was a brilliant shade of orange and pink over what I assumed to be Polish land. Screams and gunfire snapped me out of my trance, and I took a feverish look around me.
Someone was shouting in German. Then Polish. My ears popped as a bullet whizzed by my face. The harsh and metallic smell of blood washed over me.
This was a very fucked up lucid dream
And then something hit me. The sickening crack of a rifle made my ears ring, and the pain took a second to register.
Holy shit. There was a hole in my arm.
I've never been shot by a gun before. The closest pain to this was the time I snapped my wrist falling off a ladder. So obviously I'm not used to lead being in my flesh.
I collapsed and scrambled back to the treeline, hair getting caught in a bush and trail of blood following me. Why did I get shot? It's not like I was dressed like a fucking soldier, Polish or German!
Oh.
Oh no.
I slowly look at the red, white, and black armband on my arm. Then the combat boots, and the green uniform.
Of course. Of course I had to be reading an autobiography of a WWII survivor and not some fantasy book when something like this happened. Of course I was on the bad guy's side. And, for fucks sake, *of course* I was standing in the middle of a battlefeild when it happened!
I ripped off the armband and leaned dejectedly on a tree.
Honestly, fuck this. | 2020-03-19T13:40:13 | 2020-03-19T12:19:14 | 27 | 13 |
[WP]As the cop put the handcuffs on he asked in a panicked voice, "Why are you letting me do this?" | "Because I didn't do it."
That makes him hesitate ever so briefly, but he clicks the cuffs on. "What do you mean, you didn't do it? This has your signature all over it."
"Are all cops this stupid, or just you?"
It slipped out before I could stop it. I grit my teeth. Stupid as they may have been, I really didn't do it, and I needed them to help clear my name. "Look," I continued. "I did know his weakness. And I'll freely admit, I did exploit it a few times. But I didn't kill Captain Courage. This wasn't me. I just can't prove it right now."
You know, that last line probably weakened my credibility. I always did have a problem with speaking too much.
"You've been fighting him for years," he returned, placing his hand on my shoulder. "You hated him."
It took me a second to realize that he was pushing me, and wanted me to walk. "Well, yeah, I hated him," I said, as if it were blindingly obvious, which it was. "If he was on fire, and I had a glass of water, I'd drink it. He'd probably survive, anyway," I added under my breath. "But I hated him like you hate the Lakers." I climbed into the back of the transport truck and shuffled over to the seat in the middle. "The better they are, the better my team looks in comparison when they win. Like how a diamond looks better on black velvet. The blacker the velvet, the shinier the diamond looks. Captain Courage is the black velvet. I'm the diamond. You guys? You're sand, because beating you guys isn't hard."
I couldn't stop that one, either.
"Right," he said sarcastically. He was a little more relaxed, now that we were in his territory, in the truck with the big burly officers in tactical armor on either side of me, weapons at the ready. I hated seeing that.
Mostly because I thought cops in armor wouldn't catch on, so I didn't bother designing any, and got locked out of a *big* chunk of change.
I rolled my neck out, making them tense. As if finding the seat uncomfortable (which it was), I stretched, and the handcuffs popped open and fell to the floor.
"Oops," I said unconvincingly, holding my wrists out for another pair of cuffs.
Riot Cop to my right put on a pair of zip tie cuffs. *Plastic* zip tie cuffs. Feh.
"Ok, well, why don't we think logically?" I said. "We've already established I preferred him alive. Blasting in through the window isn't my thing--I hate glass, always have. That logo on the wall looked like mine, but it wasn't the right color--I mix my own paint, you know--and it was a little *too* thick, like someone was drawing slowly, or copying it from a pattern. I don't ransack rooms unless I'm looking for something, and what did he have worth taking in his secret identity's house? Super hero undies? A porn stash? Really not my style. And how long did they say it was before they found him? Two days? Have I ever not taken credit for something I've done? It was probably an accident. Someone broke into his house, trying to..." My voice trailed off, and I let my head hang back. "I know who did it," I said. "You have to let me go."
"We're not stupid," he said, and Thing 1 and Thing 2 readied their tasers. "You're not going anywhere but Downtown."
"And yet here I am, a metalworker, in a metal truck," I said slowly.
Oh, that slow look of dawning horror was delicious.
​
\*\*\*
​
I scowled as I walked down the street, a mangled mess of metal behind me. They'd get out, of course. Once you start killing cops, they start shooting first in any following interactions, and I'm not bulletproof.
But man, is it hard to walk coolly away from an action shot like that with your hands still zip-tied together. Just ruins the whole thing. | Sentients of countless species teemed on the gangways of dock 3 as the massive starship disgorged its passengers. For the diplomats, signatories, and rich tourists of the Galactic Federation it was just another day opening a new rim world but for the human race it was a historic day. News drones floated high above the action, periodically zooming down towards the crowd like gnats when a particularly exotic alien made an appearance, at other times whirling about in a chaotic parody of a dogfight when one network tried to cut past another.
As Ensign Willie Freeman stood in the press of the crowd, waving luminescent batons back and forth to tell these *things* where to go, the importance of the moment was lost on him. All he knew was that the lights were too bright, the walls squeezed a little closer every time he looked up, and he desperately wished he hadn’t left that farm in Kansas.
“Sir, this way sir.” Willie said, gesturing to a strangely ovoid creature the height of his shin to the right. He’d given up guessing genders and forms of address, his mind was working on autopilot. “No sir the left,” this time he spoke to a walking fridge, its body strangely segmented into a blocky white carapace.
A roar came from deeper into the crowd, chilling Willie to the bone. None of the aliens seemed to react but the other junior members of the naval police force attached to the station all jumped, their entire worlds narrowing to the point where that apocalyptic sound had come from, just long enough for them to decide it was out of their immediate sector of responsibility.
Not so for Willie. It was dead center of his.
Willie advanced at a near parade readiness, his training taking control from his overloaded brain as the sea of aliens parted before him.
The creature that had roared (and still did from time to time) was obvious to anyone, standing a full head and shoulder taller than any other species on the dock. Fully 2 feet taller than Willie’s 5’10” the thing would have put a large bear to shame. It reared back on cloven hooves, its broad, powerful chest dotted with small protrusions that seemed to flail under the blue cloth of its tunic. The beast let out a low snort, tossing a massive, ram horned head. In front of it a small penguin like thing crouched, making a shrill noise and emitting an incredibly acrid scent.
“Sir!” Willie’s voice squeaked as he tried to yell at the creature. “Sir I need you to cease your disturbance! You’re impeding traffic flow!”
The massive creature turned to him and cocked its head to the side. It had three rows of black eyes on the sides of its skull, all of which were focused on him.
“Please move to the side sir, and refrain from making that noise!” The penguin whistled at its apparent attacker, Willie chose to believe it was in support of his efforts. Without any consideration the horned beast lifted the smaller sentient into the air, hurling it in a high arc over the crowd. It sailed very far in the low gravity of the dock.
“Hands in the air sir!” Willie shouted, thumbing his baton into stun mode. Ensign Willie Freeman had absolutely no idea what was going on but he knew one thing, he had a job to do. He would not dishonor the service.
The beast stared back at him quizzically, the sea of aliens still not reacting to their exchange. Willie took its apparent lack of resistance to him as an acceptance of his authority, even if the creature had no idea what was going on.
“I’ve got to take you into custody now, you’ve committed an assault.” Willie approached slowly, trying not to panic it. “Do you understand that, A-S-S-A-U-L-T?” Spelling the word out was probably useless but it at least made him feel like he was trying. They hadn’t covered this in basic training.
Willie raised a pair of handcuffs in front of the creature’s eyes. “I’m going to put these cuffs on you sir. I have to, it’s in regulations. We’ll contact your species representative once we figure out what species you actually are and get this all sorted out, until then I need you to come quietly.”
This at least the behemoth seemed to understand. It pressed its wrists together, extending them forward in submission. The creature’s coarse fur cut into Willie’s skin as he struggled to fasten the cuffs, they barely fit around its wrists on the largest setting.
Willie spoke to himself then, in a soft, scared voice. “Why are you letting me do this?” He’d never felt so small in his entire life.
“So I could see which limbs you chose,” replied the creature in deep, guttural- but perfectly understandable- English. It crouched then, hands still bound in front of it as its shoulders seemed somehow to shift upward, in a way that would mean a human’s had broken out of its sockets. The small protrusions along its chest that Willie had passed over sprouted outward, pushing through cleverly concealed flaps in the tunic as the biped suddenly became the most fearsome hexapedal bull anyone had ever seen.
“Lead the way human,” the bull said.
Willie fainted, collapsing face first on the cold plasteel of the walkway.
\-------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got more on r/TurningtoWords! I just started a serial about a superhero who wins by savescumming everything and I'd love to have you! | 2020-12-18T20:02:16 | 2020-12-18T18:43:38 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] After slaying the foul dragon the king offered the knight the hand of his daughter in marriage. Neither of them were happy with this arrangement, the princess being completely disinterested in this stranger and the knight was expecting something like money or a title for risking his life | A battered knight entered the king’s courtroom dragging a large burlap sack. He knelt down at the throne’s high rise base, opened the sack, and exposed proof of his kill.
A severed bloodied claw the size of a calf laid in the sack.
The king looked down and nodded.
Two days prior, Theodric had slayed Ire the Toxicant Dragon for an unknown bounty. The battle lasted hours with Ire nearly prevailing. Theodric was older than most knights, and his body’s performance had been on the decline for the past several months. However, Theodric was a veteran and utilized his combat knowledge to kill the beast.
Despite the close victory, Theodric knew his bout with Ire was his last. He planned to sell the king’s reward (the prize usually was a new set of expensive armor or a plot of land outside the castle walls) and enroll in alchemy school. He then could make a livable wage without putting his life in risk.
“Well done Theodric!” The king said. “Ire’s venomous breath contaminated countess acres of the kingdom’s soil. With him dead, our farmers may start restoring our damaged land. Such an accomplishment deserves the highest valued prize!”
Theodric smiled when he heard the phrase *highest valued prize*.
The king ordered the knight to stand and face the entrance of the courtroom. He then rose from the throne and clapped his hands. A violist walked through the courtroom doors and played a ballad. The skilled musician played for several minutes and ended the performance with a bow before exiting the chamber.
Theodric stood befuddled. Was a slow tempo melody the king’s reward? The knight turned around to face his majesty but saw another sitting on the throne.
The king’s daughter, Princess Sariel, gazed back at Theodric. She wore a frown.
“You may speak to your prize, or whatever,” she muttered.
Theodric didn’t respond. Sariel was heartbreakingly beautiful and could win any man or woman’s affection with her sigh. But she was half Theodric’s age, enjoy partying until dawn, and desired to travel the realm. Theodric felt sorry for her. The young woman would be forced settle down with a knight past his prime.
“You don’t seem enthusiastic about taking my hand in marriage. Is that a way to kick off our new relationship?” Sariel said while rolling her eyes.
“I apologize my lady. I just am a bit taken back by your striking appearance.”
“Oh stop. I bet your as limp as soaked rag,” She said. “Let’s at least be honest with each other.”
Theodric bit the inside of his cheek. He would have done 100 quests for Sariel’s love when he was younger, but now this “prize” seemed to be a curse.
“Very well,” he said. “I hoped for funds as a reward so I may change careers. Perhaps we can express our feelings to the king?”
Sariel let out a frustrated breath. “No, my father doesn’t accept returns. He’d probably take your request as an insult and kill you while I’d be gifted to another gross knight.”
“Then maybe we can compromise. I can use some of your family’s wealth to fund my education, and you can sneak out of our chambers at sunset. I’ll ignore whatever you may do.”
“I thought that too,” Sariel said. “But the clergy would accuse me for being an unfaithful wife if I was caught. They’d brand my face with the mark of the harlot.”
The uncomfortable couple stood in silence.
“We’re in this for the long run whether we like it or not,” she said. “Can you trust me?”
Theodric stared at her. He imaged Sariel going behind his back and slipping a poisonous tonic into his ale. His death would be her freedom.
“I can’t. At least for now,” he said. “How about you? Can you trust me?”
Sariel observed the man’s defined muscles and scars. She didn’t find him attractive nor felt any potential affection. She feared the seasoned knight would someday force himself onto her petite frame.
“Not one bit,” she responded. | For seven years she awoke in soft sheets and gentle sunlight. There were no serving maids to dress her, but she was no longer put on display and paraded; she was not the doll in the looking box. She was thankful of him for that at least, these moments of relative freedom. She looked to the nightstand for today's flower: orchid.
She smiled. The damn thing was beautiful but poisonous. He'd sneaked into her room while she slept, silent footfalls from a darker past to exchange it from the garden he now kept. The first months of this she felt violated. She was ecstatic when he gave her her own room and made no move to force himself on her. He was noble in that, but what good was it if he would come unwelcome?
She blamed herself a bit for it. As a frightened child, she was too afraid to confront the dark brooding man, and he never brought up what he was doing. They fell into a silent game of it. It was their anniversary, and her father would surely come to press Eric for an heir. The first year he came, her husband had challenged the king's elite for the right to choose his own pacing. Her father was livid at the challenge, but agreed on the condition that the fight was to the death, and that the terms were only for the year.
She cried with joy that day. It was the first day since the marriage that she had hope that she might one day be a real wife rather than a prize given to a dispassionate man. That day she served as her husband's squire, fitting his armor as best she could. Even through her tears, she remembered the details of the scars. She remember how strange it was for a man barely more than 4 years her senior to have suffered so many injuries. She sent him to fight hoping it would be the last day he suffered.
While she had heard stories of him, and like so many, stood in awe of their magnitude, she honestly didn't believe them. Kill a dragon? Armies were sent for such things and it was never a guarantee even then. The King's man stood tall in their humble garden wielding a spear. It was where her knight had chosen to fight; she thought it strange.
He entered carrying only a sword gleaming in the sun. Seeing him like this, he was indeed just like the stories. She settled in to watch the long fight on one of the stone benches. Her father's man struck quick with the spear but she watched it splinter in a flash, Eric's shoulder lead first into the man's chest and a dagger found the man's neck. There was a horrific sound, but it suddenly faded.
His hands were on her ears, and his body blocked her view. Everything happened so quickly, and her hope, entertained for only a moment, died in the tears she shed in that awkward embrace. She'd tried so many times to let go of that memory, but it still haunted her. The man's scream, the death of hope, and the touch of a husband that set her skin to crawl. Every year, on her anniversary it would occur again and each time her father would bring a new champion. She had heard the stories, even in her far off life, that the offer stood. Kill the black knight and marry the princess. Contests were held to find the strongest men. It had grown to be quite the money making venture for the kingdom. She finished dressing and came down stairs. Her father was already there at the table speaking to Eric. He would likely not have said much if anything. She'd learned easily enough that he was not well educated and she suspected as a calculated move chose to keep his speech to a minimum. Unfortunately, that meant that we he spoke it was often just as he fought. It was quick, unexpected and could devastate.
Her father stormed out of their home before she could even greet him. She looked to Eric. “Troll.” he said coldly before standing from the table. She collapsed in revelation. She'd spent these years thinking her father was trying to rescue her, that he wanted her to be with a good man. It was a fantasy. This was her punishment. She felt his presence and a gentle hand on her shoulder. He stood and began to gather his armor.
She remembered herself and though still shaking, helped him put on his undercoat. The gravity of her situation kept her reeling. He was out of practice. The only exercise he got these days was walking and gardening. Every year his reflexes grew slower, his muscles weaker. She felt the tears again, felt her powerlessness. She was behind him so he could not see her struggle. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You could leave-” she felt his hand grasp hers.
“My lady. For you I would walk through fire, bear dishonor and shame, and die a thousand times over. I will not abandon you to the rage of that man.” His voice was strong and carried deep anger with it. It's confidence lessened her fears. He stood and walked to the doorway to the garden before calling back “For you I can do this much. Imagine if you loved me.” | 2021-01-11T11:00:20 | 2021-01-11T09:16:38 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You thought it’s be fun to scare your wife when she got home from work while the kids were out Trick or Treating. To your horror and immense surprise, you frightened her so badly that she spontaneously turned into a wooden chair. The kids will be home soon and you don’t know what the do. | There she was on the floor, turned into a chair. I slapped myself hard, once.. twice.. I counted my fingers, I tried holding my breath. I looked at it, a damn ordinary looking wooden chair. I felt the grain, I got a splinter.
I sat on the floor and stared at it, vaguely aware somewhere in the back of my mind that the kids would be back soon. What would I tell them? "Hi kids, I accidentally turned your mother into a chair by scaring her?" They'd think I was ready for a room with padded walls.
I got up and got a glass of water and sat back down, intently observing the chair to see if there was anything that even remotely told you that it'd been a grown woman just a few moments ago. Fear trickled through my body in waves as I imagined one more horrific scenario than the other. I tried speaking to it, but of course, it being a chair meant that it didn't answer.
A few minutes later, there was an audible pop as the chair ceased to be and my wife reappeared, stark naked. I looked down at her with even more surprise as she hissed at me "For fucks sake Evan, help me up!" I put down the glass of water as I pulled her up and looked at her with suspicion, who was she? WHAT was she?
She sat down on another chair (which made me flinch a bit) and sighed deeply.
"Look, I didn't want you to know like this... no, I'm lying, I never wanted you to know at all. What I am."
"You're.. a chair?" I asked, feeling yet another mote of sanity slipping away quietly into the night.
"I'm a *mimic*. Oh how good it feels to say that. Yes Evan, your wife Sarah is a damn mimic OK?"
"A .. mimic.. like.. in .. "
"**YES**!" she snapped back at me, her eyes glowing briefly "Yes a damn mimic just like in your fancy tabletop adventure games. Pile on the jokes why don't you?"
I sat down and got a napkin and wiped my forehead which had suddenly become very sweaty. The room felt like it was spinning a bit, but I got up again and steadied myself against the table and looked her in the eyes.
"I really don't feel like joking right. So.. if you're a mimic, then .. what are our kids? Are they human? You're clearly not." I slowly said, staring at her, feeling the fight or flight response churning in my gut.
"Yes, they're human, we.. I'm human. We're just this off-shoot from the evolutionary tree that somehow gained the ability to change our shapes. I didn't find this out until I was old enough that everyone I could have asked about it in my family was dead. So yeah, I get startled, I defensively turn into .. something."
I smiled wryly at her and shook my head slowly. My sense of humor was returning and before I could stop myself, my mouth opened up and said "Hahah, I guess I really scared you stiff huh?"
She groaned.. and then she smiled and before we knew it, we were laughing hard. I looked up at her and told her "Look, honey, I just wanna know one thing here... "
She gave me a look that was hard to interpret as she replied "Yes dear?" with a voice thin as an ice wafer.
"Do you eat people?" My serious face had returned. I swallowed hard as the seconds ticked away. This was it, do or die.
She chuckled "No, I eat the same stuff as you, hell Evan, we've been together for 22 years now, I'd THINK you'd noticed a little something like your mimic wife eating people by now if I did!" and then after a few seconds she murmured to herself "Not like I wouldn't be able to if I wanted to ..."
While I'd calmed down enough during our talk to start sitting down again, I darted up with alarm again from the table and started backing away from it, but stopped when she burst into the kind of laughter I knew she reserved for really good comedy movies.
I sat down again on the table and sighed. Mimic or not, my wife was still always going to have the last laugh. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Wallflower v.s. Domestic Life)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Spontaneous involuntary transmutation was one of the most unfortunate powers a child could have.** Ever since her elementary school days, Governor Laurel had been haunted by bullies who treated her as nothing more than a complex toy. They'd even made a game of it—Musical Chairs, they called it, where they dragged her into the woods and screamed at her until her abilities surfaced. She thanked God every day that they'd eventually decided that the burgeoning video game industry was a better drain on their time and money than torturing her further.
Upon becoming governor, one of Laurel's first acts had been to grant substantial tax cuts towards home entertainment systems, in the hope that what happened to her would never happen to anyone, ever again.
But it seemed like despite everything, her crusade against boredom-inspired malice had failed. As soon as she opened the back door, she leapt back, screaming, as a bucket of snakes fell down from the ceiling.
Moments later, her wife came running down the stairs. "Laurel!" Aisha shouted, cackling, "Gods, I hope I got that on video. Laurel?"
Laurel could not respond, on account of currently being a small wooden folding chair. She tried to glare at her wife, but all she managed to do was make the quasi-sight she held while in this form slightly blurry.
Aisha slowed. "Oh, Gods. Laurel? Did you—" Aisha stepped forwards, eyes widening as she took in the scene. Stepping over the rubber snakes, she dashed to Laurel's side. "Oh my Gods, Laurel, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I'd force a transformation, I thought—you said you had it under control—"
Laurel focused on her human form—plump, greying, perpetually tense despite years of therapy—and forced herself to relax, despite the anger that was now breaking through her panic. In an instant, the Laurel in Aisha's arms was a human instead of a chair, and Aisha yelped and staggered to a knee as Laurel's weight forced her down.
"I'm so sorry, love," Aisha said again. "I—"
"Enough," Laurel said quietly. "I don't want you to treat me like I'm made of glass."
"That... that was exactly why I..." Aisha swallowed. "You said you wouldn't—"
"Long day at work. Goddamned Clara Olsen showed up in the conference today, of all things, and you just know that's going to be one hell of a headache once all this is through. Not your fault." Something nasty and vicious in Laurel snarled at the words, urging her to lash out at her wife—but Laurel clamped down on the instinct. She had been the one to ask her wife to stop tiptoeing around her to avoid triggering a transformation; she would've been an idiot not to expect her adorably literal wife to immediately take action.
"Still. I—I guess that's another datapoint." Aisha laughed shakily. "I know I went too far this time, so I'll just... dial it back next time. Receiving my loss function and updating my biases, just like a neural network."
"Love, I have no idea what in God's name you're babbling about," Laurel said. She gave Aisha a kiss on the cheek, then stood up and dusted herself off—although she was restored to perfect physical health whenever the transformation was undone, there was still a lingering feeling of powerlessness. After everything she'd been through, she still couldn't control herself. The admission stung more than it should have. She eyed the hundreds of tiny rubber snakes. "I don't suppose one of your algorithms can clean up this mess for me?"
Aisha rubbed her forehead ruefully. "Er. I don't suppose you actually know what an algorithm... is?"
Laurel sighed. "Old-fashioned way it is, then. God, we're going to be picking rubber snakes out of the lawn for days. How are we going to explain this to the kids?"
Aisha smirked. "We could always make them do it for us. A little child labor never hurt anyone, eh?"
"Love, I have literally spent years in court fighting for stricter child labor laws. Try again."
"Or... we could clean it up together. Just the two of us." Aisha nudged her wife, winking. "Kids are out trick-or-treating, and shouldn't be back until tomorrow morning."
Laurel felt the tension melt from her shoulders. "Eight hours together, then."
"Let's make it count."
Laurel and Aisha knelt side-by-side, leaning into each other, and there was nothing even slightly wooden or stiff about it.
A.N.
I have returned from my month-long hiatus! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-05-30T00:28:19 | 2021-05-29T20:40:01 | 463 | 143 |
[WP] Your ship's new prototype energy cannon just vaporized an alien warship, shattered a moon, and punched a hole through a planet. "Sir, message from thier flagship: What the !@#$ing %/&$ was that?!". | The comms blinked amid the hiss of venting oxygen and crackling, exposed wire. The green light flashed insistently for my attention, out of sync with the red alert lights pulsing throughout the ship's bridge. My crew was silent, tension written across their faces, as we all looked upon the trail of destruction displayed on the forward viewscreen.
The destruction we'd created.
*One shot*, I thought to myself, awed, as I studied the debris field. The remains of a fleet floated before us. Sharp green metal sparking and colliding for kliqs and kliqs. But those casualties were just the fallout. Amidst the carnage, was a void. A huge tunnel of empty space stretched through the horror. Atoms now, where once there were ships. The trail continued, past where a moon once orbited--the moon reduced to nothing but a smattering of spinning rocks. From there, it carved a hole straight through the raging storm of a roiling gas giant.
Breaking from the reverie, I turned my head and nodded slowly to Mera, my communications officer. She nodded slowly in kind, and brought her attention back toward her station. A moment later and we heard the Veski commander's voice crackling over the bridge audio feed. "Human rebellion ship, designation Bluejay..." I could make out the uncharacteristic concern and fear in the bastard's voice, even through the old translator tech. "I repeat, Bluejay. This is Veski Commander Keine, of the Most Superior Uron... *requesting* audience." Now, *there* was the contempt I'd come to expect.
I spoke, trusting Mera to route the audio appropriately: "Hello, again, Keine. Miss me? I imagine you're ready to listen now?"
There was a long pause. "Renalt... What in the seven moons did you just fire at my fleet." It was a demand more than a question.
"Six moons, now." I said quickly, earning a shake of the head and a small smile from Alexi, my pilot. "But to answer your question: *that* was a warning shot."
Another pause, as Keine digested what I meant by warning shot.
"You are bluffing," was the eventual reply.
"I'm not," I lied. "We've equipped these puppies on every flight-capable scrap pile this side of the 'belt," another lie. "So we highly *request* y'all take your slaver asses on home to wherever the scrag your species came from." It was hard to keep the venom out of my words. Generations of oppression will do that to a man.
Keine's response was immediate, "We are prepared to accept your immediate and complete surrender."
"Scrag that."
I motioned to Mera to cut the comms before turning to my security officer: "Feri," I say, "vaporize this asshole."
--------------
Author's note: don't normally write on popular posts since peeps only ever read the top one or two responses, but this prompt seemed fun. Pretty happy with how it turned out, and I hope at least one other person (who isn't my spouse!) gets to enjoy it. If that's you: ❤️ Thanks for reading! | 2748: completion of the Hadox-Boson results in its mounting on a purpose-built Behemoth class battlecruiser
2749: the Ymir is launched before full systems testing is completed as pressures on inner-system world's reaches breaking point. Yag-Ar fleets sweep from world to world, chemically indoctrinating populations and bending to their will.
2749: Fleet Admiral Tosun Sadashi dies unexpectedly at his helm. An autopsy reveals the cause as a full lacunar stroke, later found to have been caused by a rupture in his inertial-dampening mix.
2750: Tosun's loss becomes apparent as the Yag-Ar drive a wedge through the Tempus systems, spearheading an assault directly at the core systems of Sol, Tau Ceti and Barnard's Star.
April, 2750: Titan lies in wait with an escort fleet of 4 battleships, 7 cruisers and 13 destroyers let by fleet Admiral Kessa Corelli. Dissent continues within the UFHS polity at the appointment of her appointment as the overseer of humanity's last hope at turning the tide.
May, 2750: A Yag-Ar flotilla of 76 warships stumble into Barnard's Star where Corelli ambushes a battleship with the HB cannon. It is a success.
The ship is vaporised, along with 13 other ships, a moon and a through-puncture of planet Barnard's Star B. Hostilities cease immediately, the U
Yag-Ar flagship uncharacteristically communicating demanding to know what had happened.
July, 2752: after 2 years of an uneasy ceasefire and the gradual withdrawal of their forces, hostilities were initiated by the Yag-Ar. Thinking they had developed a weapon of similar destructive potential, they were unprepared for the HB cannon technology to have been implemented into energy shielding, a technology long thought impossible.
September 2752: UFHS referendum of 79 unified and independent planets found in favour of a war of aggression with 69 planets in favour, 8 against and 2 abstaining. Humanity was now engaged in a war of extermination.
March, 2754: Retrofit of the modified HB2 Phalanx weapon onto the oldest ship in service, the battlecruiser Tagashai is completed and the entire UFHS fleet is engaged.
October, 2755: After incalculable losses, Yag-Ar Bonders begin appearing in major system hubs near to war fronts with the same message: "we come in peace".
Riots erupt as pro-peace activists clash with pro-extermination leagues amidst the unilateral execution of all bonders.
An unprecedent UFHS multi-sustem council is formed and convened to discuss the continued annihilation of Yag-Ar. With a slim majority, it goes ahead.
May, 2757: the Yag-Ar homeworld lies open. UFHS battlecruisers blot out the suns as human dominance is exerted.
The decision is made to withhold an invasion, instead leaving the planet to exist, stripping its population of space-faring vehicles and leaving them with the threat of extinction should they attempt to rebuild a voidfaring fleet.
August, 2760: In one single moment, every ship mounted with HB2 weaponry disintegrates. Torn apart by the weapons that had wrought untold carnage. Titan, the original warship remains the last bastion of human might in the cosmos. It is positioned in the Yag-Ar home system in an attempt to conceal the fact that the navy had been reduced to a single warship and hastily retrofitted civilian ships.
2774: research into the cause of the Obliteration determines the cause to be a freak accident - an immeasurably large HF subspace burst from the galaxy's core caused a momentary excitation of Hadox particles, a quantum-state particle integral to both the HB and HB2 weapons.
Quantum scaling allowed for the original HB weapon, essentially a ship in itself to be miniaturised enough to mount onto the broadside of anything larger than a cruiser.
What was not taken into account is that smaller weapons have smaller capacity. A sudden influx of energy from another source triggered an energy spike, causing the smaller weapons to overload, taking their ships with it.
Kumar Hadox, the man attributed with the invention of the first HB weapon, dies. Official accounts claim death by natural causes, however leaked documents reveal suspicion of suicide. Presumably at the loss of hundreds of thousands of military personnel. | 2021-08-03T11:32:55 | 2021-08-03T11:18:51 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Mermaids are the women thrown overboard by superstitious sailors, saved and altered by the sea's magic. They lure ships onto rocks for vengeance, singing with husky voices from throats that remember the sting of inhaled saltwater. | My earliest memory is of my mother's voice. Sitting by the fireside, her face cast in orange in the embers' glow, she would sew with slow, deliberate movements and fill the room with her thin, reedy voice. Outside, the wintry night was cold and silent. And I know I must have been cold then, too--the rest of my memories of that creaking shack never omit the chilling drafts that swept though the gaps in the warped walls--and yet, in my mind's eye, I can only feel the warmth of the hearth and the hope in my mother's meandering song.
I grasp this memory to my breast to keep me warm as I sink into the abyssal gloom. I have fallen for days. Down, I pass schools of silver fish, glittering in the half light; whale carcasses, decaying as they descend; jellyfish of all colors; and other things besides that I can not recognize. I fall deeper, until the sun has also become a memory and the only light is from the lures of anglerfish. I clutch myself more tightly.
As I finally come to rest in the never-ending plains of mud, I realize that my mother could not have been right. That her song did not account for a place so bleak as this--for the deception that lead me here: the false smiles, promises unkept, and trust betrayed. In absolute darkness and crushing pressure, I let my hands fall to my sides.
And as I see the deceit her song, I also find the falsehood of my flesh. Here, in the cold, eternal night, I am for the first time free to _be_. Ice prickles my chest as I take my first breath of sea water. Never again will I be beholden to the words of others: only them to mine. There is only darkness and freezing brine.
With a powerful stroke of my tail, I propel myself towards surface. I will sing my own song. | Don't idolize me. Don't you sit there and make videos and buy fancy swim equipment so you can look like me. Don't.
You think I'm pretty, and free, and happy?
Think again. I am a broken shell of the girl I was before all this happened. It was a bad year for father, and I'd joined a ship's crew as a result. It saved the family feeding me, and I'd come home with some money when we landed again. Of course, sailors are superstitious about having women aboard- but a few quick snips with the shears, a cap, trousers and a baggy shirt and I could pass well enough for a boy.
Well enough for a few weeks, anyway. Then it all came apart in an instant. I'd waited to pee until night, but as my backside hung over the aft railing, the mate came along the deck with a bottle in hand. His vice was my undoing.
With a startled "what's that now?" he'd yanked me back onto the deck. The distinct lack of male parts bare before him confirmed what my posture a moment ago had suggested. He roared for the rest of the crew.
Moments later, my nakedness was on display for the crew, with lanterns held high. After that? Well, it took them a whole minute to decide they couldn't risk having me aboard. Right there and then, they stripped off the clothes ("no use lettin' 'em go t'waste") and heaved me over the side.
I cried out as I fell. The injustice of it all, the horror of plunging into midnight waters miles from shore, the shame, and the knowledge that I'd never see my family again- all jumbled into that strangled yell.
"But wait," you say? I'm still here to tell the story, aren't I?
That yell was not the first of it's kind. I kept it up, too, much as I could while trying not to drown beneath the waves. Begging for mercy. Promising anything to anyone that would save me.
I was heard.
My sisters, my *new* sisters, came for me. Beautiful, yes, and with voices rough and raw like mine from choking on the waters. They saved me that day, and my loyalties now are to them. The beauty you see is nothing. The mermaids have a community that is strong, a purpose that makes us that way. Written in blood is the magic that saved me. Written in blood are the oaths I swore to avenge myself on the foolish men that threw me overboard because I was the wrong gender.
The magic gave me this face, this body, this tail. All for the destruction of men too weak-minded to understand my value as I was. I've been this way for 3 months now, and today was an especially good day. My sixth ship sank beneath the waters today as I led them onto the rocks. My sixth ship was *my* ship. My old crew, aboard the *Promissory Note*. That's a debt paid, now, boys, isn't it?
\*\*
First story of any length at all that I've written in over a decade, and it's pure stream of consciousness. Looking forward to your feedback! | 2021-08-30T16:33:33 | 2021-08-30T15:46:30 | 428 | 124 |
[WP] A teen girl stares in shock and horror at the stump where her arm was just a few minutes ago. Shaking in horror, not because she had just lost her arm in a car accident, but because inside was sparking wires and circuits, a metal bone instead of normal flesh and blood. | Sarah sat up, incredibly sore, but the pain wasn't unbearable, probably just bruising, nothing broken. Her bicycle was absolutely trashed though. It looked like it had folded in half. The blue car had gone on to wrap itself around a lamppost. Other people were checking on the driver.
The red car next to her was uncomfortably close. Sarah raised her left shoulder to brace herself against it so she could sit up. As she pushed off, there was a loud clunk, and she fell backwards, hitting her head again. She winced, then realization set in. Slowly, knowing what she'd see, Sarah turned her head to the left. The red car's tire was flat. Shards of metal were sticking out of it. Her arm was snapped in half, halfway up the forearm.
She didn't notice when the driver of the red car came over to help her up. It was all too overwhelming. She'd had the prosthesis for less than six months. Her father had saved for a year just to afford the down payment on it, and the waiting list had been three years long. For just six months, she'd felt normal again. Felt whole. Now her arm was ripped away from her again, just as surely as the first time, five years ago... | She looked down at her arm in utter shock....suddenly a strong rumbling was felt from all around her. Startled and in shock she looked up to the sky with wide eyes to see a transport helicopter slowly descending to her location.
A dark, calm, figure in a brown trench coat appeared from the side sliding door of the helicopter and slowly walked towards her. The figure lit a cigarette and continued his slow stroll towards her as she sat shocked outside of her wrecked car. The man stopped and stood over her, she peered up once more wide eyed and afraid. He took one last drag from his cigarette and flicked it away. She did not know whether to cry or scream.
The man had a dead-pan expression, almost somber even...He removed a hand-gun from his inner-coat pocket, brandished it and said
"When ya' body takes significant damage like this, it sends a little beacon out to any local crew hunting for you bots...Yeah...unfortunately you're in Washington D.C. , we have an office not but 5 miles from here, didn't take long to scramble out here...."
The dark figure stared deeply at the "girl", straight into her synthetically made eyes and shook his head and spoke again
"Yeah, so those memories of yours, they're not yours, they're Olivia Casselberry's memories, and I am here to put those memories to rest, so the innocent girl whose memories were stolen for your build, can rest with the one who actually experienced them....Sorry..."
He lifted his pistol and sent one single round through the android girl, in a lethal spot and the deed was done....Paramedics never responded, neither did the cops.
Oliva, a mild mannered girl, loved her dog Lucy, loved her parents and friends......Never lived past age 15. However, some extremist cult of rogue scientists did all they could to download her memories into a tin can replica of a human girl. Olivia died in a car crash much like the one her robo-doppelganger got into on this "fateful" day. However, while her corpse lay in the hospital, funds were exchanged. The hospital executives agreed because this cabal of scientists convinced them that it would make their hospital look great if they could have this very dead teen girl seemingly come back to life while in their care....The deal was made, and the FBI's shadow group assigned to hunt down ultra-realistic human androids was formed. The clean-up and explaining away was done by politicians and hand-picked officials
...The dark Figure's only job was to eliminate them. | 2022-01-26T12:31:14 | 2022-01-26T12:29:47 | 93 | 24 |
[WP] You're the worst adventurer in history. You've made every imaginable mistake and have had little to no success in quests or dungeons. So you decide to set up a school to teach new adventures what not to do. Your graduates have gone on to be elite adventurers making your school famous. | When the Head Professor entered the class, most students barely even turned their heads, entrapped within their own little dialogues and blatantly uninterested in the upcoming lecture. Many Adventurers would be hard pressed to fault them for it since to be in the presence of one Barnabas Thistle was as thrilling as watching horned slugs try and run down a cricket for dinner. Many fresh Adventurers, that is.
Due to the school working on a strict referral basis, only graduated alumni able to send a new student his way, Barnabas was always prepared to expect the exact same thing that started him onto the path that culminated in “The Remedial School for the Intrepid Adventurer”.
Turning to a wall filled with traps and clumsily climbing a rickety stool, the teacher carefully noticed how his bumbling appearance began to entrap the class. Whispers commented every near fall and shushed murmurs tried to guess which move would finally result in his fall, already anticipating the chance to cackle at the laughing stock of the adventuring community. His final misstep brought him directly over the pot of a sleeping carnivorous flytrap whilst his fingers barely missed a gold encrusted pot atop a ledge and instead grabbing for the salivating teeth of a small sized chest mimic.
Deftly grabbing the tongue of the pest and flinging it down to stuff the jaws of the flytrap, stepping on the mimic clogging the throat of the plant and safely landing in his soft leather chair behind his desk, Barnabas savored the disappointment of the class.
“Official records state that this particular move already cost three Gold ranked Adventurers their lives. Thirty Silvers and over a hundred Brass ranks have fallen prey to their lack of common sense, environmental blindness and sheer stupidity in the face of obvious danger.”
The class fell quiet.
“The actual dark figure can be discovered from the Priests of the Death.”
The class fell quieter.
“Many of you may be familiar with my person and are currently questioning what ‘Barnabas the Mediocre‘ could teach you. Which wisdom may ‘Barnabas the Heavy Girthed‘ share that would be vital on your journeys? How ‘Barnabas the Ever Failing‘ could even dream of opening you a door that was forever barred to him?“
The class was finally enraptured by the words, every movement of his emotive arms and charismatic voice gluing them to their seats.
“What you’ll learn is that ‘Barnabas the Wakeful‘ brought back his team back from an ambush by Toxic Evernight Shadelings only due to a fluke of drinking too much coffee before his night shift. What you’ll discover will be the tales of ‘Barnabas the Generous‘, who found a way to trade wheels of moldy cheese with a tribe of feral Gnolls and convincing them not to eat a hopelessly lost cadre of Spellslingers of Owlrest. What I will drive into your heads, if it’s the last thing I’ll do, will be the facts of how ‘Barnabas - Grace Everlasting‘ has never once lost a member of his Party to a Dungeon.”
Straightening in his chair and idly flashing royal accreditory medals from the inside of his coat, the teacher; The Principal, held the attention of the class in the palm of his hand.
“What you will learn in the foreseeable future will NOT be ways to fight and defeat a Dungeon. It will not be flashy techniques and most certainly not stupid parlor tricks to impress your drunk mates during a bar crawl.
You will cry, bleed and curse me to the end of your lives but I will teach you to recognize everything a Dungeon may throw at you and prepare for it beforehand or adapt to the unforeseen on the fly.
I WILL teach you how to fail at everything of the above but still succeed in bringing everyone and their pet horned slug back from a Dungeon Run turned mortally dangerous trap.”
“I will…”
One last look at the faces of his new students and he saw that he managed to get through to them.
“…do my utmost to impart upon you the wisdom of how to be ‘Barnabas the Prepared‘.” | This is the story of Amar Quentro, prince of Quentro and founder of the Amar Quentro Adventure Academy.
All his life, Amar had felt like most of the world got it all wrong about him. Kinda like, everyone tried to make him out, make a word cage for him with their descriptions, but when they spat out their sentence-boxes Amar never could step into them.
Felt like putting on his pants from when he was a kid. A little right, maybe, but mostly wrong. Mostly suffocating.
Like, everyone in Quetro said he was born for the quest, back when he was thirteen. Being the foremost town for adventure in the world, they were usually right about this kind of thing.
To be fair, that one had been misinformed. It was a royal secret that Amar was shit at fighting. Mum thought he would grow into it, become broad-shouldered and agile like Koona, but Dad knew that wasn't happening. Dad had his own failure of a cousin cleverly hidden behind glitter in the family tree.
First quest when he was 14. Bit young, but then Mum was a slave driver and had been in a tizzy over prestige and shit. Dad didnt really care. Dad knew how much a little glue, glitter and gold in the right hands could do.
Amar had actually gotten the pot of gold, but the dragon took off his leg. Mum had cried big fat tears and banned him from any more quests. Dad had sighed a big, deep sigh and asked Amar where his school project glue was.
Both of these, Amar was happy with. He wasn't really a fan of risking his life to get pots of gold and slay cute(yeah, big as hell, but still cute, cmon) animals. And that seemed to be all anyone visible on the family tree seemed to do.
SO. The people were wrong. Not really born for the quest after all, right? Uh, well, not so fast. They weren't all wrong.
Maybe Amar didnt like quests, but quests sure liked Amar. They came searching for him, big and dangerous. From fourteen to eighteen, Amar saw more dungeouns, caves, dragons, and trolls than even the most talented adventurer wannabe had seen in their entire lives.
Astonishingly, he did not die, or lose another limb. There's parts of you to lose beyond physical, and Amar lost quite a few of those, but that isn't what this story's about.
Next, people went around saying he was bad luck. That one was particularly harsh, and could be *very* bad luck if the Queen caught you saying it, but it spawned after a particularly bad dragon attack on the town, so you have to give them a break.
Amar's best friend ditched him over that rumor. More weird non-physical parts of Amar broke, and Dad sent him away to another kingdom because he was sad all the time, and really the worst killjoy ever. Dad liked his joy almost as much as he liked his food.
Dad said Amar could come back when he was happy, and if he knew how to quest that would be a nice bonus too. Then everyone else was falling over themselves to comment on what a bad father he was.
Now that Amar was gone, he was the town's heartthrob. He was a martyr, the injured hero who had been wronged. Amar heard that one and he didnt like it much either.
I'm sure that, if Amar had steered clear another 5 years he would be the sort of fictional hero grandmothers tell stories about. Unfortunately, Amar tended to impulsivity at the best of times. Exiled by his father, minus one limb, quests dogging his steps, this was not the best of times.
Now, one has to make an allowance for what seems the most ridiculous notions. Especially when the one making the decisions is hotheaded, reckless, and in a pretty bad place.
Let me just come out and say it. Amar went back to Quetro and started an adventure school.
Surely, you are aghast at this decision. And yet, somehow, Amar managed to shape this into success.
Now this is an example of leadership and bravery. Despite his doubts, his uncertainty, he forged forward bravely and started his new school.
This is a story of a boy whom everyone wanted to say something about. Mostly, these were bad things. A boy who couldn't find himself in anything anyone said, and so he forged himself this new identity.
And somehow, through nothing but grit, he has found success. The academy run by this misfit adventurer had created world-class adventurers such as David Oisgrath\*, James Griffin\*\* and Cod Line\*\*\*.
I, myself, have studied in the Amar Quentro Academy of Adventure and later been employed in the Academy itself as an advertiser. That's right, the Academy looks after its graduates.
And so this story has a happy ending. The boy who met failure every time has finally found victory beyond his wildest dreams. But one thing remains.
Even after such glory, the Academy remains quite small and not very famous.
Help to make this happy ending even more joyous. Forge yourself a glorious life just as Amar did. Join us now at [QuentroAcademy.com](https://QuentroAcademy.com)(coaching up to the first quest and fine-training available)
​
\*Name changed \*\*Name changed \*\*\*Name changed
Note:Paid for by [QuentroAcademy.com](https://QuentroAcademy.com). The writer does not endorse, support or guarantee the information in this article. | 2022-08-02T21:29:22 | 2022-08-02T18:11:44 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] 2 seconds for a murder, a minute for an explosion. at 9/11 it stopped for 25. your wrist watch always stops whenever something bad happens. However, this time its been still for 3 hours, but you can't figure out what has happened. | Frozen at 4:35pm, still not moving. I was getting really nervous now. Night had fallen and the stars shone bright. My friends clustered around our weekly Sunday bonfire in the woods, blissfully drinking beer.
I sighed, looking up at the thin streaky clouds and twinkling lights. "Yo, Bennett, what are you doing over here? Get warm by the fire." Marvin's voice came from behind me, mirthful and friendly. "Miranda is here you know, sitting alone." He said, his implication obvious.
I turned, forcing my mind from the watch and the hundreds of thousands of dead it already represented. "Yeah, I was just working up the courage to talk to her. Let's go."
He handed me a fresh beer, and I tried to casually make my way over to Miranda. I sat next to her on the fallen log we used as seats as she stared into the fire. "Got something on your mind?" I said.
She glanced at me briefly and replied in a low, blunt tone, "You like me. I like you too."
"Uh that's. Awesome but- Are you okay, what is up?" I said. She was normally pretty shy.
"I know about your watch. I got a thing like it. When something bad happens, my vision gets blurry. I don't know how I noticed it." Her voice cracked and she looked toward me again, but not directly at me. "I haven't been able to see since before sundown."
I sat, quietly processing this for a moment when I heard Marvin say, "Uh guys, does the moon usually... Look like that?"
All but two eyes turned to the sky, where the moon had finally risen. We didn't know it was an hour late and much closer than it should be.
But everyone but Miranda could clearly see that it was broken, massive chunks of lunar stone spalling off of it like bone fragments from a head shot.
Miranda asked me, in the profound and terrified silence, "What do you see?"
I choked out, "I don't think my watch is going to start again. I think you're lucky you're not seeing this." | Huh? It stopped again, and it’s still stopped.
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s nothing really, my watch is acting up again.”
“You really should buy a new one, you have commented and gotten stressed out about it stopping so many times. I have no idea why you haven’t replaced it yet.”
If only you really knew.
“I know, I know. Anyhow, the real problem is I’m later than I planned. Lunch went a bit long. I’d better get home, I’ve got a big report due at work soon, and Monday won’t be enough to finish it”.
“You’ve also got to cut out all this work on your days off. When’s the last time you had a real weekend. I hope they’re at least paying you overtime, you put in way too much time at that job.”
“I know l, I know”, I lied. “Anyhow, hopefully next weekend”
“I’ll hold you to that, catch you later.”
With that I drove home. What Bob didn’t know was that my watch loses time anytime something bad is either happening, or soon will happen, and I can prevent or improve it.
Mostly, it centers around death, a death with a human cause such as murder or negligent homicide. A single death usually causes it to lose about 2 seconds. Multiple deaths can cause it to be around a multiple of two seconds lost per death, but not always. Likewise if some really important is going to die, it will stop for a bit longer than two seconds. Catastrophic events like explosions, building collapses, or some other man caused event cause it to stop for a minute or more. 9/11 was almost half an hour. It would have been longer, but a couple well placed phone calls (once I figured out what was happening) kept the 5th and 6th planes from getting off the ground.
And I wonder why I have insomnia at times, NOT.
Anyhow, anything over a minute of it being stopped, makes me really concerned. It’s been stopped for 5 minutes now. Got to get home.
In cases like a single murder, I can usually find out who, and prevent another murder, or help bring closure to the family.
But when it stays stopped, that means it’s bigger, but I might be able to stop it completely. Oh good, the light will be green when I get there.
Ok, let’s start ruling some things out. It’s unlikely to be any simple murder or shooting. The watch has been stopped too long.
Stop and breathe, it’s only been a few minutes. Lunch isn’t sitting well, but I’ll be of no use to anyone if I make myself sick. I should just listen to the news for now.
(A minute later)
Ok, park and get in. Nothing seems to be on the news. 11 minutes now, this has to be bad. I have to meditate and see what draws me. That usually works.
(A few minutes later)
Nope, not working. Odd. Even in 9/11 that worked. Oh well.
Shoot, I fell asleep, and it’s still stopped. Ok, 20 minutes. This is very very bad.
( to be continued) | 2022-10-22T06:32:24 | 2022-10-22T00:52:22 | 52 | 10 |
[WP] You had a high school friend who always talked about world domination. At graduation you jokingly make them promise you to give you the rank of a general. 20 years later a series of violent coups happen out of nowhere and the new dictator appoints you as a general. | I'm a stand-up comedian. And not a successful one. I do a lot of bar shows. I once did a show on a cruise ship. It did not go amazing. Turns out retirees are not my target audience. Luckily for me, I think cruise-ships might end up being a thing of the past. Retirement might be as well. That is what happens after world domination.
I guess you could call this a promotion. It certainly makes more money than stand-up. I really have no idea what I am doing though. I send soldiers into one country. And then I move them around to another country. And then I move them back to the first country again. Am I killing it? I must be doing an alright job, I haven't been fired yet.
I am definitely surprised that Jared even spared my life, let alone made me a general. Say what you want about the man; perhaps he is a violent dictator, and perhaps he threw the entire world into chaos, and perhaps he has murdered over a billion people. But the man can keep a promise. Even one that was made twenty years ago. And in my book, that means integrity. And if you want to have an evil dictator running the world, you can't do better than that.
I'm honestly as happy as I could be with where I am. Sure, most of my friends and family are dead. But they never came out to my shows when I performed. Now everybody laughs at my jokes. Everybody. | I remember that day, clear as water. Calum had promised that once he had dominated the world, he'd appoint *me* general. We of course, laughed it off, knowing that stuff would never happen. But here I am.
I've been watching the news, checking in every 5 minutes to see what's happening, when suddenly there's a sharp rap on the door. I'm frozen where I sit. Have they come to take me like they have so many others? I've seen and read that it's completely unknown what happens to those people. A pang of fear settles itself into my stomach. With shaky hands, I open the door. It's Calum. Older. Thinner. Smiling pleasantly.
"Why hello there, Rebecca." He says breezily. "Remember back in high school?"
I stare in disbelief, having not connected the dots. I stammer out "W-what? Huh? What is this?". I've only just noticed that he has a firm line of soldiers behind him.
"Highschool." Calum repeats. "I always keep my promises. In our new world, you'll be my general. Making executive decisions, by my side."
I stare at him uncomprehendingly, only to realize that he was the man on the news. The one who's been taking over governments, destroying entire countries...
"You see, they've been villainizing me quite terribly. Of course, I'm simply trying to tear down the governments, which are incredibly corrupt, and replace them with one that will create a happy utopia for all." He says matter of factly. I'm not quite convinced, which he seems to see.
"You'll be second in command! Control, power, money, and more than that, you'll be able to spread peace and happiness."
After a little bit of back and forth I'm reasonably convinced that he really *is* a nice person trying to help out.
"Why me, though?" I ask as my final question.
"Well. From what I gleaned from our time at school together, you have a great mind. Intuitive, persuasive, strong-willed, and many more things. And, like I said, I always keep my promises." At the last bit his mouth quirks into a little smile.
"Well. I-I will join then. I'll be your general."
His face lights up. "Excellent! This way, now.", and the soldiers march us away. I feel I made the right choice. Now as general, I feel fulfilled, and my family is more than comfortable now that I'm general making over six figures.
I figure it's better to stay on the winner's side anyway. He's more than halfway through the world at this point. It is, as he said, better. Calum always keeps his promises. | 2022-10-29T18:20:29 | 2022-10-29T18:00:38 | 829 | 63 |
[WP] Adapt a famous fairy tale so it has a realistic ending.
I'm about to go to sleep. Bedtime story!... Except that I won't read anything until I get up. Happy Saturday. | “Off with her head!” came the Queens familiar cry.
All around Alice her enemies closed in around her. “You cannot hurt me” she whispered defiantly. “You cannot hurt me, you’re just a pack of cards!”
At her bedside in the hospital her father was shuffling the deck. It had been three months since he had begun his vigil. Since Alice had swallowed the mushrooms he had sat patiently waiting. He had been assured that she would not die but the doctors could not tell him when she might wake up.
“What may be, may be” he had thought to himself. As he started to set up his next game he saw something move in his peripheral vision.
Her eyes had twitched. He was sure of it. “Doctor!” he shouted “Doctor!” He rapidly pressed the assistance button and held her hand tightly. Finally, Alice woke up.
| You never leave some crime scenes. Physically, you part, but days, weeks, years later you wake up screaming, terrified. Some crime scenes are demons that latch onto your soul and slowly eat at your sanity. Some crime scenes never leave you.
When Detective O'Grady walked in the first thing that hit him was the smell. After 11 years on the force you think you'd get used to it, the smell of decay and rot and death. Human death. But you never do. He never did. O'Grady put some vicks under his nose, inhaled the last clean breath he'd ever inhale, and delved deep into the horror.
The next thing he noticed was the blood. It was impossible not to. It coated everything. It turned the whole house into a horrifying la vie en rose. The uniform that walked in with him took two steps inside the house then fled, cowering in the bushes and retching uncontrollably. O'Grady did not often brook weakness, but this case was different. Even his steps grew slow. Typically stoic, O'Grady felt terror nipping at his heels.
The blood was everywhere, on everything. Splattered on the walls and ceiling. Covering the chairs and making the floors red and slippery. It had sprayed on the kitchen table and into what looked like someone's breakfast. The body was upstairs. The blood combined with the bags he was using to protect his shoes meant he was essentially using the banister to climb up the stairs.
More blood in the landing. More blood in the bedroom. Here and there, the tattered remnants of a little girls dress. Bits of bone and hair and flesh tossed casually into corners and window ledges. The bedroom was a terrifying chaos, a peek into the very deepest levels of carnage.
*Who would do this thing. What fresh hell has been wrought for human beings?*
"Looks like some poor kid wandered into a bear's house," a uniform said. "Found an ID here. Says 'Goldilocks'." | 2014-03-29T09:16:17 | 2014-03-29T09:08:11 | 75 | 42 |
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects. | "Okay fine waste your one wish." said the djinn with no small amount of exasperation, and with that his eyes rolled far into the back of his skull, his hands raised to the sky, then with a melodramatic burst of coloured smoke popped into existence... an ornate urn.
"What the hell's that?" said a very shocked Tom.
"Well" said the the now exhausted looking djinn "You didn't say how far in the future did you." | "Hello there, my name is Andrésssss," he said, rolling out the 's' with his smooth Latin-American accent. A short, dark man, he wore a goatee like a swordfighter and a cleanly pressed purple shirt.
James could say nothing, only blink repeatedly, before sputtering out, "B-b-b-but... what?"
"Oh Himmy, you are jus so cute! How ole are you, chico? Mmm I coul jus gobble you up!"
"I asked for my wife! Who are you?"
"I tolllll you, seely. I am Andrés! Oh you don know me yet, hahnee. We meet in Cabo. You grow up to be quite de hansum young man, Himmy."
"You???"
"Well I am not a wife, seely. We can boff be husssbands, you know." Andrés rolled his eyes and bobbled his head like a Latin diva.
"I'm not gay!" cried James. "That's... that's gross!"
"Oh well haff you been wit a girl Himmy?"
"No... well, I--"
"Den DON gimme dat sass, Himmy. I don need to hear it. You be a good little boy and you grow up soon, ok? I am waiting for you Himmy. You are just a niño now so don be so clost minded, ok sweety?"
Smoke began to rise from his feet, and his image grew transparent from the bottom up.
"Oh and one more thing, Himmy... make sure to practice your Spanish." With a wink, and a puff of smoke, Andrés was gone.
James looked at the ground where he had stood. Then he dropped down to his haunches, placing his face in his hands.
"God... damnit." | 2014-06-05T08:29:11 | 2014-06-05T07:40:47 | 49 | 13 |
[WP] Jesus returns and he's much different than we had thought | "So you're Jesus?"
"Yep."
"But where are the holes in the palms of your hands?"
"God, everyone asks about the damn hands. You guys took that seriously. Total metaphor. Never happened."
"What?"
"Yep."
"So what about the whole rebirth thing and being all dead and then coming back?"
"What about it?"
"Was that a lie too?"
"No, that part was real. Mostly."
"What do you mean *mostly*?"
"Are you familiar with Copperfield?"
"Yes."
"Kind of like that. Part of it was an illusion."
"So you didn't rise from the grave?"
"It was more of a hidden compartment really."
"Jesus."
"Yep."
The two men looked at each other, studying intensely, gauging the true character of one another. Quizzical glances were exchanged. It looked as if they were about to burst, each appearing ready to voice some question, then retreating into silence. An immaculate and pregnant pause hung in the air.
"And what about the water into wine thing?"
"That's totally real. Let's do this." | You would be forgiven for thinking there was a music festival. It's hard to think of any familiar example to describe the number of people or the intensely joyous atmosphere and that is, after the event, how people described it, they were waiting for him the same way they had waited for Freddie Mercury or Michael Jackson or any other world-famous superstar who enthralled the world.
He appeared not with a bang, he seemed to materialize like a thick mist had evaporated and what was obscured became visible. People blinked, fell silent and stared, 20 million people holding their breath as cameras shot to focus and bring the central image up on the gigantic screens.
The figure in the middle looked around. Slowly, calmly, a shy smile on his face, he registered no sense of shock or surprise. He looked down at his hands, seeming puzzled for a second. They were more pale than he remembered, he grabbed a lock of his hair, bringing it over his face and going slightly cross-eyed as he examined the light brown, straight hair. He dropped it and shook his head.
Two millennia of memories and experiences flashed past him in the blink of an eye, again the momentary puzzled expression, the crowd held spell-bound and silent. He was not magnificent or lordly, he was... Well, how they imagined him. Jesus realized this two.
Jesus sighed, raised his hands and began to speak, "My-" Deafening roars and screams drowned him out. He did not continue to speak, just waited, the expression far more stern now. Slowly, the roars died down as people looked at their holy figure and it dawned on them that he was not happy.
He paused a second, arms still raised and began: "My people. I will not do a Q and an A session, if that is the correct expression. I can already tell you want answers, as much as I am sure that you will not listen to them. I thought my teachings had been as simple as they were loving. If you can't even be bothered to read what I said then it doesn't bear repeating. You disgust me, all of you."
And with that, he was gone. The crowd hesitated only a moment before they rushed the stage, howling with rage and frustration.
And life continued as normal. | 2014-08-06T13:35:31 | 2014-08-06T13:07:40 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] You are 90% certain your waiter is Hitler.
Stolen (shamelessly) from an AMA I saw. | The waiter looked at me expectantly, and rocked forward and back on his heels rather awkwardly as he endured my protracted silence.
"I uh - t-that is to say - my, you've aged surprisingly well!" I finally managed to issue, immediately cringing at my own inanity.
"Sir?" said the man I was almost certain was Hitler in an utterly professional display of waiterly discretion - polite, unassuming, and just a sprinkling of boredom.
"What? Oh, the ah - the *wine*! The wine has aged surprisingly well don't you think? I do. Do you like wine? Delicious!" I said, taking a theatrical sip from my glass.
"Pardon me, but Sir has not yet ordered any wine," he said, and with an imperceptibly smug tone added, "however I commend Sir on his taste, because all of our wines are excellent. Shall I bring one of these perhaps?"
Almost-Hitler made a sweeping motion to the wine list that I saw none of because I could not draw my eyes from his iconic moustache. It was him - it had to be! Nobody had the requisite bad taste but the man himself.
"I think I'll skip wine, I'll just have some juice," I decided, mostly stalling with myself to summon the courage to denounce the potential Ex-Fuhrer.
"One must be very careful when ordering a glass of juice," Hitler muttered darkly, "one never knows how one may be misheard."
J'accuse! I leapt to my feet, chair overturning, glasses rattling, deaf to the shocked gasps of my fellow diners as I shouted, "It's you!"
The waiter, all smugness drained from his demeanour, stood in mute shock.
"You're him! You're the guy, y-you, you're," my accusatory finger trembling fiercely, "You are Adolf! Fucking! Hitler!"
The man turned white, then very slowly his face began to redden in anger.
"I Sir? No," his voice shook with emotion, "I am Charlie Chaplin! Hitler is in the fucking kitchen!"
| He guided me to my table. As I sat down, he turned to face me, placed the menu down gracefully and stated, "Sherry should be here anny minute! She'll be your waiter for this morning!~"
It was an interesting place. Bohemia everywhere, a place that reeked hipster. But it also boasted the best waffles in town, so here I was.
The guy came back. "Oh I'm sooo sorry. Sherry is on her 15 minutes, I'll be *your* waiter for this morning. More tips for me *right*?"
He was clearly gay.
The high intonation leaving the end of the sentence, the elongated vowels and frankly, kamp imitation of Hitler with the dirty sanchez on the upper lip were infuriating.
"I'll have the strawberry waffle with cream, honey, with the salad. No pine nuts please." I thought my monotone was intimidating, but Mr. Mustache thought otherwise.
"OOooooo, someone's grumpy! Needs his cream, but no nuts, gotcha. Perfect! I'll be right back with your order!"
He skirted away, almost at the tune of skipping to an upbeat sound only he could hear. His arms swinging from side to side as he winked at another waiter. I could hear his high pitched voice, screaming with joviality to the chefs.
That stupid haircut, the mustache. Some stupid costume of being a hipster ironically Hitler. One that was for soy frappicinos and gluten free waffles.
He shuffled back, and only then I noticed he was wearing a lederhosen outfit. He placed down a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice.
"Just let me know when you have eliminated all the juice. It's my *favorite* thing to do!"
It struck me as odd, the way he phrase it. Another waiter came by to drop off the waiter, thankfully without any indication of attraction.
The waffles were delicious. Terrific. Orgasmic one could say. The orange-yellowish walls created the perfect ambiance, coupled with the rustic aesthetic of old fans and dark wooden tables against the marble floor.
The only sour note was Mr. Straps up to his shoudlers, socks to his knees Hitler. He then came over, and whispered, "I'm sorry if today the place smells a bit. Had to have a bit of the old *gas shower*".
I gasped. "I'm sorry?"
"Oh, one of the chefs was blowing up gas in his chambers. Smoking that herb, if you know what I mean. *wink*"
"Sure."
He walked away. I finished my waffles hurriedly.
His last visit, his high pitched voice came back with the bill. As his put the bill onto the table daintily, he looked me straight in the eyes and said softly, "I hope the meal was gooood. It should last you *a thousand years of reign*."
Keeping eye contact, I said flatly, "Sure. Thanks. Keep the change."
As I headed out, I kept the receipt. Right before I placed it into my wallet, there read a note:
"HEIL MY NUMBER 020-004-1889."
I scrunched the receipt up and walked away as fast as I humanly could. | 2015-01-15T19:51:26 | 2015-01-15T19:19:07 | 349 | 30 |
[WP] You are 90% certain your waiter is Hitler.
Stolen (shamelessly) from an AMA I saw. | WAITER: *Guten morgen!* Can I get you anything to drink?
LANA: (Gaping openly.)
ARCHER: (Looking at the menu, not even noticing the distinctly Hitlerish waiter.) Ok, can I start off with a liter of the Oktoberfest... better make that a pitcher... two glasses of goldwasser, a long island iced tea, and... do you have Glengoolie here, or is that like...
LANA: Archer?
ARCHER: ... not a thing in Argentina?
WAITER: *Gott in himmel!*
ARCHER: Listen, buddy, I'm not paying you to editorialize. (Looks up at waiter.) Uhhh... and how about two bottles of Manischewitz. (Looks back down at menu.)
LANA: Is that supposed to be some sort of joke?
ARCHER: This menu is a joke. (To the waiter.) Any day now?
(WAITER hops to and leaves to fill the order.)
LANA: Archer, did you notice...
ARCHER: The extremely poor hairstyle choices of our Argentinian waiter? At a *German restaurant*?
LANA: No, Archer. I think that was literally Hitler.
ARCHER: Lana, we've discussed this. Literally means--
LANA: **I know what frickin' literally means!**
LANA: Look at him, Archer.
(Camera pans to waiter, who is serving another table their drinks. His chin. His stache. His angry eyebrows)
LANA: Look at him. He's about the right age. He's German. He looks *exactly like him.*
ARCHER: You mean like how Woodhouse looks like the Pope? All old people look alike, Lana.
LANA: Are you even looking at him, Archer?
ARCHER: I mean, I'm not NOT looking at him... but did you see those two hot waitresses working behind the bar? Why did we get Gandalf Hitler instead of one of them?
LANA: Archer!
ARCHER: Excuse me, I'm just going to have a word with the... manager.
LANA: (Grabs Archer.) *Archer!* Our waiter may literally be one of the most notorious mass murderers in history, and you're trying to get laid?
ARCHER: Lana... it's me. (Pulls away from Lana, carefully straightens his suit and pulls out his cell phone.)
(The waiter returns with Archer's order in tow. He places the order on the table one piece at a time, as the camera cuts back and forth between his face and Lana's, the ringing building in Lana's ears as all of the sound is fading from the scene. All of a sudden, the world snaps back.)
WAITER: ... and could I bring you anything?
LANA: (Churkling nervously.) I'll have a coffee.
ARCHER: (On his phone, walking away.) OK, Krieger, so I have good news, and I have bad news...
| "Hallo," a voice said to Justin's left. "Are you ready to order?"
"Er, yes," Justin said, staring at the menu. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted, between his usual favorite or the soup of the day. He decided to play it safe. "The southwest chicken sounds good. Is it okay if I take it to go?" He folded up the menu and glanced up at the waiter to hand it back, but he was scribbling down Justin's order. Justin, meanwhile, took the moment to take in the man's appearance.
Slightly jowly, with neatly parted brown hair, the man, in his mid thirties, did not particularly stand out. Except for the small, square mustache, and a strange resemblance to a much younger Adolf Hitler.
The waiter finished writing down Justin's order and took the menu from him. "Thank you," Justin said quietly. The waiter smiled and said that his order would be right out. As he walked away, Justin pulled out his phone to text his girlfriend.
*hey, did hitler always have that little mustache?*
He looked back up. The waiter was taking a couple's order, and they didn't seem to be acting strange. Other than a few other patrons, the small corner restaurant was empty- Justin was picking up a late lunch after work.
*Ping.* He glanced back down at the reply. *i don't know, why? did that trivia game ask you?* It pinged again. *did you grab the movie?*
*nah, just wondering. not yet,* he typed back.
"Here you are, sir," a deep voice said above him. "That'll be $8.28."
"Oh!" Justin said, startled. He looked back up at the waiter, and found he couldn't look him in the eye. He just kept staring at that little mustache. "Isn't it still on a five dollar lunch spe-" He stopped. He decided not to argue with Hitler today.
"No, the special ends at two," the waiter replied, the mustache bobbing up and down.
"Ah." Justin blinked. "Okay." He reached into his pocket for his wallet, wondering what he could say to this guy. "You, uh- you look familiar. Do I know you? Did you-" Justin struggled to think of something Hitler would do, other than cause the Holocaust. "Were you in that art show a couple of weeks ago?"
The waiter visibly brightened. "I was! Did you see me there?" he asked, smiling.
"Uh, yeah, I think so. Did you do the one with the trees and the stairs and the door?"
"I did! Did you like it?"
"Yeah, it was a great piece." Justin bit his lip, uncomfortable with complimenting Hitler.
"Thank you! I'm trying to get into art school, but they didn't seem to like it." The waiter smiled at him again, and the mustache curled up a little.
"You know, I think it was great. Hey, I didn't catch your name." Justin said.
"Adolf. Adolf Hitler. I have a website, you should look!"
"Oh," Justin said, mind racing. "Oh. Yeah! I will. And you know what, man? I think you really need to concentrate on your art, you know? Like, people will want you to go into other careers and stuff, but I think you show real talent. I'd say you don't even need art school. Just keep painting. Like, forever. Never do anything else. Anything."
Hitler pursed his lips. "That's very kind, thank you. I really do enjoy it."
"Uh, yeah man." Justin dug a twenty out of his wallet. "Here you go."
"Thank you, sir. Let me go make you change-"
"Oh, I don't need it. You keep it. For your art," Justin said, shuffling toward the door.
"Oh- thank you! Have a great day!" the waiter said happily.
"Oh, yeah, you too, man," Justin said as he opened the door to leave.
No way he was stiffing Hitler on a tip. | 2015-01-15T23:20:05 | 2015-01-15T22:20:32 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] There exists a court that sentences people with "Would You Rather" questions. Whichever option the person picks, becomes reality.
Feel free to play any role - a person on trial, a judge, a member of the jury - anything! | Someone had caught up to Jack.
It didn't really matter who it was. What mattered was that they had shot him. The pain in his chest told him that he was going to die. Fuck. Maybe that was what he deserved. He had ...
"Welcome to purgatory."
Jack clutched at his chest but found that it didn't hurt anymore.
He seemed to be standing in an infinite grey emptiness.
Empty except for the woman who had spoken to him.
"Am I dead?" he asked.
"Yes" she answered. "This is purgatory. You are here to be judged for the crime of murder"
Jack finally recognized her. He tried to look down, but he seemed unable to.
"You" he said with a small voice. "I killed you".
"I am not your victim." the woman replied calmly. "It is your conscience that makes me look that way to you. I am your judge."
Tears tried to fill Jack's eyes. But he seemed unable to cry here. There was no escape. His gaze was held by the woman. By the judge. She continued speaking:
"You raped and killed a mother of three. She was kind to almost everyone she met. She was a good friend. She spoke mostly truth. She did not deserve to be treated the way you treated her."
"I am sorry, so sorry!" Jack managed to say.
"Yes." the judge said. "You are. But for who? You will be given a choice:
Would you rather that you never had killed anyone, or
would you rather that you killed someone who deserved it?"
She added:
"You will answer truly"
The last part seemed to *bind* his mind and his throat.
He sort of sensed, that he was supposed to give the first answer, but he couldn't keep from thinking about how he grew up being tormented by his father, by his older brother, by anyone older than him really. How he had never been given a chance. Society wrote him off at an early age. So many people had stepped on him.
He heard himself say: "I would rather I had killed someone who deserved it"
The judge said: "So be it."
A flash of white.
Then...
Jack was alive again. Alive? Yes of course he was. What had just happened? What was he doing? He was in an alley. He had a knife in his hand.
"Please let me go."
A beautiful woman was looking at him as if she was afraid of him. She was pressed against the wall.
Jack knew he wanted her.
He also knew he was a swine.
The woman screamed as he plunged the knife into his own heart.
"Welcome to purgatory"
In front of Jack stood a man, who looked exactly like himself.
| I thrummed my fingers on top of my legs as I thought. It was a habit I got into when I was younger, though then I used to do it on the table instead. However I changed that habit when I became employed as it tended to irritate the others in the room and make the accused overtly nervous. One even snapped and tried to make a break for it, that may or may not have been my fault, but better to be safe than sorry with these things, so my busy fingers busy themselves in quieter company nowadays.
I was thinking of an appropriate punishment for the man in front of me, a convicted rapist, one with overwhelming evidence stacked against him. However the issue lied in the attention this particular case had garnered. The victim was extended family of the president. As such I was given more freedom than is typical for dishing out his options. Typically it would be "would you rather spend twenty less years free Or lose everything you own?". Not greatly selected options in my opinion. The ones who instituted them didn't consider the possibility of a very poor person committing such a crime and essentially losing nothing. Thankfully that option will be overturned next month.
Apologies for my rambling, I just like things to be clear so that there's no misconception about why I made the decision I did. You see, when a judge is given the power to choose the question, then there comes with it a certain expectation. One cannot reward criminal behavior and so when I was told of my position by the higher ups, it was clear they desired an example be made of this man.
Anyway, the scene played out as such:
"Would you rather, be half you height and double your weight, or double your height and half your weight?"
The accused was quite perplexed for a couple of seconds, I suppose my wording wasn't what one would call intuitive. However his mouth quickly began to gape open soon afterwards, his forehead crinkling in rapid thought while his eyes widened in shock. It looked quite uncomfortable. It took him a while before he could say anything, or I suppose, thought of what to say. But when he did, he said:
"How?...How would you do these things?"
"Well, For your first option, we would simply take your current weight, remove your legs and suture shut the wounds. After waiting for that to heal, we would then find your weight after the removal and then pump fattening produce into your body until you became double your previous weight."
I will note, I had to call for order several times whilst I was saying all of this of course, but I'll be excluding that if you don't mind. Welp, for the second option I told him:
"And if you choose option number two, we'll simply suck the fat right out of you with liposuction, and assuming you survive that we will then give you a bit of a stretch."
"This is unconstitutional! There are la..."
"THOSE LAWS CAN BE AMENDED!"
...I admit to being a little prone to theatrics, I prefer to think of that as the reason they chose me for this case.
"I have been bestowed, by the government of the united nations, power of determination over which punishments are layed before you. And while you are certainly not a typical citizen due to your most reprehensible actions, you are in fact still a citizen of the united nations and as such must follow the laws of its government. Now choose."
That was one of the harder decisions I've given in my life. I essentially relegated the man to either a terrible death or horrible dismemberment, then probably death. I let him have his time making his choice. Normally one has to make their decision within an hour of the question being announced in cases of this nature, but I gave him two. I enjoyed watching him stew almost as much as I hated him. I say hated in the past tense, as one could hardly call him a man anymore, more like a bulbous pile of sludge at this stage. So I suppose that answers your question then, that's what happened, yes the decision I made was influenced somewhat by my emotions at the time, but I do not regret my decision at all. Such things are unavoidable, when families involved. | 2015-08-15T11:43:19 | 2015-08-15T11:24:51 | 650 | 80 |
[WP] A plane carrying all 17 Republican Presidential nominees crashes over the ocean. All survive uninjured, but are marooned on an island. Chris Christie has found the conch. | Two days later, rescuers arrive finding only a lone, hungry New Jersey Governor in a wasteland of the burnt and blackened Island forest.
He was taken aboard the USS Findafatfuck and fed and questioned. It is quickly revealed that the 17 had begun to argue about whether the doomed flight should have been aborted when it was discovered to be dangerous to those on board.
A pitched battle ensued between the two apposing ideologies. Half of the group insisting it is never moral to abort a flight regardless of the situation or how many lives it could save. The other half, while agreeing, insisted on a stipulation that the flight can only be aborted if your daughter is on the flight and the pilot is black or Mexican.
After hours of arguing, in a ravenous hungry rage, Governor Christy seized his chance and bludgeoned his fellow inhabitants to death with the conch.
Using Donald Trumps hairpiece for kindeling, he attempted to start a fire and cook his colleagues for much needed sustenance. Unprepared for the pure mass of fake hair and flammable hair products, the blaze quickly grew out of control and engulfed the island.
Governor Christy quickly consumed the others to avoid dying of starvation and then rested for a day and a half until rescuers arrived.
Christy returned to America a hero and swept into office as the new commander and chief. Marijuana was promptly outlawed to stop children from injecting it. The star spangled banner was replaced with a MacDonalds flag and vegetable farmers were all round up and shot.
China, aware that it's tenants were destroying the property, evicted everyone. As the hoards tried to escape the country it was discovered the President had closed all of the bridges because someone called him fat 3 years ago.
Chaos ensued...... then the documentary [The Road](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bO8EqMsxOiU) by Cormac McCarthy was filmed to document the aftermath.
| As they walked back toward the beach and with a sulking face, Christie held the conch out disdainfully from one stubby index finger to Jindal.
"You try it. Ever since the lap band surgery, I can't push with my diaphragm like i used to."
"What's a diaphragm?"
"Never mind. I see them."
Out on the beach, Trump stood near the washed-up wreckage of the plane. In a loose semi-circle around him stood eleven of the remaining nominees, now looking more like mere castaways in their tattered garb, except Carly Fiorina; Carly - who earlier took it upon herself to perch peacefully atop a nearby cliff in a lotus position, with her eyes closed and her hands upturned towards the sky - managed to make it ashore unscathed and looking stunning in her fuchsia Dior dress and matching pumps.
As the the setting sun cast a golden aura around the 'Make America Great Again' cap perched atop Trumps head, he continued in nothing else but a torn shirt and a pair of boxers:
"Im telling you It's going to be BIG - this raft. It's going to be SPECTACULAR, and you're ALL going to LOVE it. I can't go into details right now, but nobody - i mean NOBODY was talking about building a raft before I did..."
As they advanced upon the group standing at low tide, Christie stumbled over a mangrove root. "Oh for fuck's sake", Christie moaned, "I can already hear him from here!"
"He giving you some competition on the blowhard front?", Jindal quipped.
Christie scowled back, "You know what, Bobby? Fuck you." Then more sulkily, "I thought we were hurricane buddies for life..."
As Christie and Jindal approached from the East, Cruz and Rubio were trudging back in slowly from the south, with only their spears in-hand.
"Please don't tell them I choked", Cruz sniveled. "That was a lot harder than I thought it would be!"
"Ill bet!" Rubio huffed. "Anyone can cook bacon on the muzzle of a gun. Its a lot harder when you...."
Cruz, dropped to his haunches by a felled palm tree and in a resigned tone, finished Rubio's thought.
"Yeah yeah...have to actually bring home the bacon..."
Rubio looked down at Cruz and smiled in a manner that Cruz would later remark he initially thought of as 'condescending', but decided after the unfortunate turn of events that came, was instead "knowing".
"I submit to you that we are not long for this island!", Rubio began in a lawyerly tone, "and that perhaps this 'crisis' is actually an opportunity, If I may be so bold and if I may use a cliche!"
Cruz blinked up at Rubio, mouth slightly agape. "What did you have in mind?"
Rubios eyes widened. "Oh, something lively!"
And, as Rubio fixed his gaze upon Trump et al, by the water, his eyes lowered and he coldly remarked, "Might have to sharpen a few more sticks is all..." | 2015-08-17T20:26:38 | 2015-08-17T19:59:33 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You've recently become president of the United States- unfortunately, life isn't nearly as fun as you'd hoped. You begin doing crazy things to get out of office, but every thing you do seems to be the right thing at the right time. | Wasn't this a movie idea from tumblr or something? I'm pretty sure the president was supposed to be played by Jeff Goldblum.
Anyway.
You have to understand. To Jeff Goldblum, this started as a game. He never expected to actually win the election. Who would vote for an actor? Sure, it worked for Reagan, but that was one time. It wasn't like the US made a habit of it.
At first he'd been excited, of course. Sleeping in the White House, and watching diplomats struggle with how to pronounce his [name](http://imgur.com/gallery/oYf9Y), but he quickly determined that it was just too much work! Jeff's time was being planned down to the minute, with meetings and complaints and aspects of legalese that seemed as trivial as they were arcane, despite the dire warnings of urgency from his advisers. How does Iowa pig farming affect livable rates in New York City? Jeff had no idea, but he was told emphatically that it did. Want to know the difference between a 3 million and a 3.1 million dollar military op in cost of lives? Jeff doesn't, anymore.
The point here is the pressure. Jeff signed up to make a few silly speeches, and get people cheering at some old movie lines again. He actually lost count of the times he quoted independence day, and the victory party with Will Smith deserves a place in national history. The job itself has been hugely disappointing. What is an unfortunate president to do? A sensible person might trust his advisers, or gracefully step down. Jeff was an actor, when can an actor resist dramatics?
So there we were, Official President Goldblum had decided that the best course of action would be to screw up as completely as possible. Being forcibly removed from office is generally viewed as bad, but for Jeff infamy was just as good as regular fame, and "it's been too long since I've had fun, dammit".
His first try was punching the British ambassador in the face, at the Queens birthday celebration.
At first people were shocked and offended, but we Americans have always had a sort of friendly but adversarial relationship with the UK, and a few people were laughing from the start. It was when the following investigation revealed the presence and enormity of the ambassadors embezzlement scheme that Jeff's popularity took off, culminating with him being personally thanked by the Queen.
This was frustrating. Jeff attempted a few small social gaffs, he gave a speech in Spanish to the portugese, and said "norwegia" in a public broadcast, but his approval was just too high.
Jeff needed to think bigger.
It was clear that a simple personal action wouldn't do it. To destroy his credibility, Jeff would have to abuse the resources of his office, and if necessary, the entire country.
First Jeff used the presidential phone lines to call phone sex operators, sometimes while also speaking with other heads if state. He didn't expect this to accomplish anything, he just thought it was fun, and it got us a killer trade agreement with Italy.
Next he enacted new laws that made it illegal for the top percent of citizens to ride in gas powered vehicles. People were angry for 2 weeks, until a cheap fusion engine the size of an orange was inexplicably invented, and when combined with Jeff's seemingly random trade embargoes, production stayed in the states. Unemployment went under 1% and a tide of wealth swept the continent.
You might think that his successes would have helped President Goldblum enjoy his new position, but remember: Jeff wants his free time back. Every success means more time in meetings, in public appearances, and being generally scrutinized. Frustrated and more desperate than ever, Jeff was ready to use his ace in the hole.
It was nukin' time.
Jeff wasn't going to nuke people, of course. Jeff may have been desperate, but he wasn't evil. Instead he was going to nuke the most important landmark there was. Something everyone looked up to. Jeff prepared to launch a nuclear attack at the moon.
Specifically the Webb crater, on the basis that it was the first picture on the moon's Wikipedia page.
Preparations were simple, he got the joint chiefs incredibly drunk and said it would be funny. The chiefs, in the middle of an unprecedented stretch of peace, were up for anything.
They started the operation immediately, and with 4 hours of bizarre rum fueled op planning a missile was launched at the moon. Now, 4 hours of perfect sobriety isn't enough to plot a stellar course, so nobody but Jeff was surprised when the missile's course swiftly diverged from the Webb crater. Jeff wasn't disappointed though. Between launching an attack on the moon, and doing it incompetently, people were finally starting to question his decision making process.
On the first day of the missile's flight, Jeff found himself ostracized from the influential social circle, and despite the press clamoring for an explanation he found time for a phone call with friends and a private sandwich.
on the second day the press got the message, the secretaries ignored him, and Jeff spent the day lounging in a bathrobe on the presidential yacht. Things were looking up for Jeff!
On the third day the missile landed on the moon, nowhere near the Webb crater. Instead, it hit a secret Nazi moonbase.
After that situation resolved, Jeff's insults and harebrained schemes were never met with anything less than 90% approval, even reaching 1000% one weekend when some knuckleheads from the Internet caused a voter turnout orders of magnitude over the population of the US for the polls.
Jeff Goldblum served a second term (he was a write in candidate), remains the mist popular and successful President in history, and never gave up on being fired. | I was tired of everything. Tired of corruption. Tired of lies and deceits. Tired of idiots who seem to win elections because the people were too stupid to research their political representative. I was tired of everyone being stupid. Fuck it. It was time to change some shit.
"Susan, get your ass in here. Right fu**ing now," I yelled at the top of my lungs.
Susan, my Chief of Staff walked in to quickly. She knew something bad was going to go down.
"Yes Mr. President?" she responded while staring at the floor.
"I want you to setup the emergency live broadcast/announcement for every channel and station in America. I don't care about the consequences or if I am over stepping my rights. I want it done now."
"But.. Mr. President, we can't just setup the emergency live broadcast without their being an actual emergency," replied Susan.
"When has it been your job to question my decisions? Do you think I do not know that? Do you think I have not thought about the ramifications? Do you think this is a joke?"
"No, Mr. President. I do n...," whispered Susan.
Susan knew there was no point arguing. She knew this was going to be bad. So she just left without being dismissed. She stopped caring and didn't deserve this treatment.
"If the President wanted to ruin his life, so be it," she thought to herself while quickly dialing the numbers to setup the emergency broadcast announcement.
**Chapter 2: The People's Roar**
"Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo," chirped the old grandfather clock to let everyone in the room know it was exactly 3:00 PM. The President was ready to make the announcement. Everything was in placed. He was wearing his best dark blue suit, his red, white and blue stripe tie, and his hair was perfectly combed to the side.
"Mr. President. We will begin in 10 seconds. Please look at the camera and stand a little more to your right. We need to be directly under the podium," said the producer while waving his right hands frantically to get the President's attention.
"What should I say? Should I take off my clothes on live television? Should I drink my own urine?" thought the President before he was rudely interrupted by the producer.
"What? Yes of course," said the President.
"3,2,1" counted the producer while letting the President know he was on air with a thumbs up sign.
This was the moment of truth. Time to stir up some excitement.
"My fellow Americans, I stand here, today, to share my experience as your President. I am overstepping by rights and probably costing hundreds of millions of dollars in damage by taking over all the networks. I stand here asking my own fellow Americans to hear me out. We need change, and I am not talking about political change. I am talking about change as a nation, as a mindset, as a person.
I think most Americans know or can 'feel' that there is something rotten to the core with this great nation. You might not understand what I mean, but there is something wrong with our nation. I have talked and understand that people are fed up and want radical change. There is an anger that has been brewing for quite some time. I am angry. I'm angry that most of our politicians don't care about the people. I'm angry that the ones who care are being silenced by the wicked and corrupt politicians. I'm angry that we vote for these politicians. I'm angry that majority of Americans don't research who we vote for but listen and obey on what we are told and should do. I'm angry that 'emotions' and not logic seem to dictate our rules and regulation. I'm angry that our government spies on us and we as Americans don't care and embrace it. I'm angry that we are losing our rights and freedom in exchange for security and obedience. I'm angry at our entitlement. Yes, I understand it is not all of us. I simply mean the majority. We care too much on winning that we forget what it means to be a real winner.
Emotion should never dictate our rules, regulations, and policies. It should only be facts and logic. Sadly that is not case anymore. I wish people understood and used logic. I wish people would not believe everything they are told to believe. The best practice is research both sides of the views and understand their pro's and con's before making a decision. You'll be surprised what you believe might not be what the social norms is.
What is sad is that, I don't think we care enough do actually want to do something. I fear the ones who care and want to do something are the ones who go to the extreme and put their agenda onto others, where emotions and not reasons is what is drives their cause.
In short, I want to say to my fellow Americans, 'go fuck yourself'. I have tried my best to protect your rights, liberty, and religion but can't. I simply can't. I can't because our government is too corrupt. I am your President and I can't do anything. I can't change anything and have tried but I can't. So fu** you guys for voting for corrupt politicians. Fu** you guys for believing everything the media tells you to believe. Fu** you guys for voting on emotion and not logic. Fu** you guys for being entitled. I have half the population that believes, argues, and fights that it is not okay to accept a lower social security return after they retire even though 3/4 of the population will pay more and not receive any when they retire. I am being forced to now convince the majority of the youth and the late generation X that it should be seen as a duty and as one big tax. It's going to pass also... And no one cares. Fu** you morons. I hate this.
Why is our youth so fu*king retarded? How can anyone be so stupid? Even though our education is bad. This isn't rocket science. This is common sense. Fu**!
I hereby tender my resignation and fu** you guys. I am done with politics. God bless America!
**Chapter 3: Pain and Consequence**
"Mr. President, that was one big deuce. What were you thinking? That was the emergency? Your resignation? You broke some many laws. If that was anyone else, you would have gone to jail for life. Not to mention the cost of damage you've done..." unanimously spoke his whole cabinet.
"I don't care. I am done," shouted the President as he walked to his room, "Oh yea, I am no longer your President".
The aftermath was historical. Both left and right wing news channels were asking the head of the President. They wanted blood. However, it was the people who spoke even louder. Revolution was stirring and every politicians knew they were going to lose office now. They have lied and destroyed the sanctity of the government and they were going to pay. No news channel or the media or any powerful corporation could help them now. The people wanted blood. The president has become a martyr.
He was not dead but the news would definitely kill him. | 2015-09-12T18:38:57 | 2015-09-12T18:37:12 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] It is the end of days. God and Lucifer stand before the last human being. You are the first neutral soul who is neither good or evil enough to pass into a afterlife and thus must be judged personally. Unknown to them, you are Death and have come for them instead. | They looked tired, incredibly so. I felt bad for them, I knew what they were going through, I had been going through that same process for ages now. It wasn't the same though, I was built differently. This little hunk of rock where the three of us stood was the last bastion of life in the universe. The crunch had begun a while ago, but to me it seemed like only yesterday.
"You," Lucifer said, chuckling. "You were surprisingly hard to find. This wouldn't have happened a couple of years ago."
"What's time anyways?" I asked, smiling. "A couple of years don't really mean much at this point."
The gorgeous man nodded before glancing up at the sky. It didn't look the way it was supposed to. This planet should've had an atmosphere similar to Earth's, where it all started, but in this moment, as the entire universe engulfed it, it was surrounded by the greatest firework show ever to exist.
"Well," God said, His voice granfatherly yet clearly exhausted. "It's time for you to come with us."
I shook my head.
"The universe is ending, little one," God told me. "There is not much time left for us."
Lucifer's eyes darted towards God, but he didn't say anything. I could tell that the fallen angel was scared. As scared as a mere mortal would've felt. God Himself wasn't scared, he was all-knowing, all-powerful. Well, almost. Much like Lucifer, God didn't know what was going to happen next and that meant that he couldn't control it either.
"There's not much time left," I agreed, sitting down on a rock. "But you're not here for me."
"What do you mean?" God asked.
Lucifer realized who I was first. The nature of his job meant that he was more intimately familiar with what I was. We had never interacted directly, but the cynical and jaded angel knew me as well as anyone. That doesn't mean much, but it was a curious surprise.
"So we are mere mortals after all, then."
God may have not known me as well, but He was no slouch in the deduction department either.
"Huh," he muttered. "I can honestly say I never expected this to happen."
I shrugged slightly. "You guys usually don't."
The two of them looked at each other. "A cycle?"
"Endless," I confirmed.
"So we'll come back?" Lucifer asked.
"No," I said sighing sadly. "Each universe is self contained, infinitely similar and infinitely different from the last."
"That's a paradox," God said, smiling. "So you can't stop this then?"
I shook my head.
The two entities looked at each other. For eons they had been the singular most powerful forces in the entirety of the universe. God had given Lucifer powers that no other angel had ever had. Their mission had gone exactly the way God had planned it to and humanity reached its true potential. It was a damn shame that it had coincided with the end of the universe. A damn shame.
"We did well," God told Lucifer. "I'm proud of you."
"Someone had to be the bad guy," Lucifer replied, tears forming in his eyes.
"It's time," I told them as the planet began to rumble.
"What happens next?" God asked. The irony of that question was lost to no one.
I shrugged. "Even I don't know."
Lucifer cleared his throat. "Let's move this along shall we?"
The two of them looked at each other for a moment before walking towards me. God placed his arm around Lucifer, embracing him like a son for the first time since he had cast him down from Heaven. Lucifer hesitated before returning the gesture, patting God's shoulder twice before closing his eyes.
I approached them and placed my hands in either of their shoulders. An instant was all it took and they were gone. I only had a few more instants before the universe collapsed upon itself. I spent them briefly wondering where the two entities would go after dying. Maybe they would simply cease existing, taking all human souls to the void with them, or maybe they would go to a higher Heaven. It was a mystery that I had long since come to terms with.
"All's well that ends well," I said as the universe exploded outwards yet again. | "Why do we have to do this here?"
"Keep quiet and focus."
"I hate these fluffy clouds. They make me sick."
"Fire and screams is not a better environment."
"Says you!"
My expression was unreadable. I didn't intend to give them any clue as to what my thoughts were.
The situation was grimly funny. The one on the left was the Holy Father--the Divine Lord... you might know Him as God. About three months ago, our *Lord and Savior* decided that it was time to end all life on Earth. Some know this event to be the Rapture.
It might have been God's idea, but the work ended up going to the man on the right. He was an angel who was once beautiful, but had now fallen into darkness and was exiled by God. He was the cruelest creature to ever exist in life and beyond life. This man was the Devil himself.
Ever since the genocide had happened, the two had been tirelessly judging souls and sending them to the appropriate afterlife. I suppose there was some sort of deal between God and Lucifer. Adorable.
"Grim," God began as His eyes gazed down upon me. "A strange name for a...rather unique case."
I know what He was talking about. They had both been putting off my trial for so long because of the circumstances of my case. The whole event was evident of these immortals' ability to procrastinate on the harder issues.
"Do you have any regrets for the life you have lived?" God asked me as he opened a massive scroll.
"None."
"You realize that if your soul is found rotten, you'll be eternally condemned to the scathing fires of Hell, yes?!" the Devil asked with a sadistic glee.
"Only if the verdict demands it."
My calmness had taken all of the fun away from him. Good. I prefer the silence.
Meanwhile, His Holiness was reading the scroll He had brought. I could only assume it told of the life I lived, yet even He seemed perplexed. "Grim, you've been charged with quite a number of horrible deeds," He told me. "Why should you be allowed into Heaven?"
"I've murdered, yes." I said simply. "Yet at the same time, I've paved the way for new life. I've separated families, but I have also reunited them. I took the life of the happiest people alive, but I've also given quite a number of mercy killings."
God frowned in thought. He was catching on, I'm sure. Lucifer, meanwhile, was not.
"Mercy killing is still a sin," he pointed out.
"True..." God admitted.
"I am not evil," I stated bluntly. "I am also not heroic. You'll have a rather hard time judging me. I've driven some into madness, while often I bring communities together. Perhaps I am more on the side of 'Good' though. After all, many cannot stand to exist in that wretched thing you call 'Life.'"
God seemed to take offense to this. He put down his scroll, glaring at me. "You seem to think life is a horrible thing. It isn't as bad as you say it is."
"Perhaps, but I'm not one to judge on the matter." I said with a slight shrug. "I only hear the opinions of those I've taken. Other than that, I'm the least qualified to tell you about life."
Lucifer, who had remained quiet, had used to this to pull out his own scroll. He seemed astonished by everything that was on it. "This seems like a lot of work for one human!" he exclaimed.
"It does..." God agreed. He was growing suspicious.
Internally, I sighed. I had only come to this blasted thing to see just where I would go when I pass. Unfortunately, it seems not even two deities could decide this.
"You two still haven't figured it out, have you?" I asked. Instantly, they turned their attention to me.
Neither of them spoke, so I continued.
"I'm surprised that neither of you know who I am or why I'm here. I'll give you a hint. I'm not here to be tried on the fate of my soul." That was half of a lie. I was there to see where I would end up out of my own curiosity, but even that wasn't the real reason. With a solemn expression, I conjured up a scythe.
Realization hit them after two seconds.
"Death comes for all, even divine beings." I explained. "Your souls will be forever banished to your afterlives, and never will you use your power again!"
"Oh, shit..." Lucifer said, backing away in fear. God, on the other hand, tried to intimidate me.
"What is the meaning of this, Death?" he asked. "You cannot reap an imm--argh!"
My hand was now in his chest, pulling out his soul. "You aren't immortal. You only exist so long as someone who is alive believes in you." I then frowned. "Be thankful I let you both live as long as I did. Three months of extra life is the most I've given anyone."
Lucifer tried to run, but I was already on him. In no time at all, I had a firm grip on his soul and ripped it out of his body.
"You cannot escape death either, Lucifer." I told him. "Now come. Reaping your souls is only the first part of my job. The next part is taking you both to the afterlife." | 2015-10-19T14:41:33 | 2015-10-19T13:51:39 | 214 | 17 |
[WP] Its the year 2277, genetic modification is legal, but not without its controversies. Your problem? Your parents are hardcore furries. | I pity some of my friends.
My mom was born a baseline, in Canada. She was a 'practical' person, so when the biotech become available to her, she made some weird changes to her body.
As I hope you know, Canada is part of the 'great north' and it gets really cold up here, so one of the items on her list was adding fur and a seasonal winter coat.
After meddling around with the ape like body, unable to decide on a look, she decided 'fuck it' and styled it to look more like an anthro wolf.
Luckily for me, by no means was she a 'heretic' as 4Chan would say, so I grew up with a anthropomorphic but non-sexualised wolf body.
Others... are not nearly as lucky.
My unlucky friends, they more or less deal with it. Either by learning to like squirrel from the nanofab, or saving up their hard earned cash to remove that second cock.
Jim though...
"Hey you want to come to my house and yiff later?"
Jim is a fucking heretic. | Blood.. everywhere.. why? Why was there so much blood? Why is it on me? My hands, my.. No. Oh god no, the enhancements, they..
I have to run. Far away. No one will find me. The enhancements will make sure of that. Lion and chamelion were a good choice, good job mum and pops. Thankfully I retained most of my human appearance, everything could be hidden under clothes and a mane mistaken for long hair. I could cut it and change it, make me like a tiger. Yeah, this'll work. Now I just have to get the fuck out of this city. Goddamnit why'd it happen.. Well, at least I know these enhancements work, albeit a little too well.. It looks like I'll have to keep my distance from people, small animals, fuck me what's the difference nowadays? It's like the furries prosecuted in the old ages came out of the woodwork and converted everyone and their sister. No matter.. At least I'll blend in.
Alright, no one's home. Everything is just as normal. Living room is... torn to pieces, even the couch with reinforced leather, scratching poles, perches installed on the roof still, but.. the catnip is all gone. Well. Parents must have had an.. interesting night. They must've left to get repairs.
Damnit I hope nobody saw what happened.. I can't remember, all I know is I killed him. Why, though? All I remember was a hunger that crippled every sense of logic and reason in me and then I saw him in the alley, and.. nothing. Fuck half of him was gone, how.. I... I ate him.. I just fucking ate someone. Maybe I should report this, as a defect in the enhancements, maybe they won't eject me.. No, I can't do that. Tommy got ejected even though everyone KNEW that the doctors had messed up the tyrannosaurus genes with the eagle genes. Then again, he did eat the leading geneticist who was on the verge of a breakthrough in body transfers, as well as half the hospital staff.. Damnit what do I do? What can I do? Fuck.. I'll just shower for now.. get this, blood off of me.. | 2016-06-15T11:23:24 | 2016-06-15T11:12:24 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP... | Nobody took me seriously, who had ever heard of a grown adult with less than 100xp? No one, that's who. Here I am in my late twenties with only the odd accidental insect death that can never be avoided. It wasn't that I wanted to avoid gaining xp though, it's that I just couldn't bring myself to be around death of any sort. I was a joke. The lily-livered insect lover. Wouldn't harm a fly, literally, look at his xp.
That all changed last week though. I had been exhausted due to all the changes recently. Long hours, little sleep, I was whacked. A rare five minutes to myself, sat on the porch to enjoy the nice sunny day. A cold soda in my hand before I had to get back to the chores of the day. Suddenly the tracker pinged.
I looked at it puzzled, I hadn't moved a muscle, just sat there facing the sun with my eyes closed. 1,500xp? How had I gained that fuc... shit. My newborn had still been in the car. | *Plghrt*
> Kill confirmed
*Sigh*
Another bug down, 1XP. Lovely, I'll never reach 10k, not at this rate. It started with the mice and rats, then the cats, fish. It's a privilege to work at a slaughter house or deliver lethal injections. I never could do that, not intentionally. The look in their eyes, the helplessness, betrayal, I cannot stand it. I document stuff, species that are near extinction, such as the common rat, house spider, fly, bee, etc. It helps us understand the value of the kill, why some rats are more valuable than others. Rare species have multiplier depending on the number of units left. White mouse used to be worth 2XP, now it's 200.
*Plarght*
> Kill confirmed
**+1**
*Sigh*
**+1500**
What!? This cannot be, what did I? How? Nothing besides me, but two fruit fly corpses. I must be going mad, am I?
*wuuuuzzzzzzz*
What's that noise? Where is it coming from? Is it the TV again? It starts by itself sometimes, old clunker. I need to check my stats again, it'll be listed there for sure. *looks at the wrist monitor* Nothing!? What was that? Just a question mark next to it, did I kill a new species? Cannot be, I did nothing of the sorts, less than 7mm doesn't count, it cannot be seen and confirmed... Damn, I must confirm it for it to appear on the list. I must check my shoes. I'm almost sober now, let's have a drink first. *opens the fridge* Oh come on, I forgot it doesn't work anymore. A man cannot live with such a low XP count here nowadays. Where did I put my vodka bottle? The toilet bowl? I did put my ice there to melt, right? Nah, this puddle begs to differ. The window? Yup, it's December, must be there.
*The window slides open*
Not this one? Hmm, can't get anything right when I start to sober up *mutter mutter*
*The window slides open*
This one neither? Oh man, I'm gonna die. Wait, maybe it fell down. Lemme check.
> Kill confirmed
Oh no | 2017-05-15T09:46:57 | 2017-05-15T06:23:41 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] The inverse of corruption: the hero has lost, but in a way that forced the villain to face goodness within himself, which spirals out of control and turns him into a hero more virtuous than the one he defeated. | Heroes are tall, strong men and women. Flowing hair, well-maintained weight, spandex underwear on the outside of the suits. That kind of thing. I should know - I've fought all of them. Captain Amazing, of course, with his heavy-handed justice; Webspinner, with his off-color jokes; The Duo, inexplicably conjoined twins who never get anything right, though inexplicably don't get themselves killed, either. The Dark Soldier, psycho murderer with a heart of gold. So dark and brooding, he's one bad haircut from starting an emo band.
There are the corrupt cops that I just can't feel bad about killing, and the non-corrupt cops that take justice into their own hands so frequently, they break the law more than the corrupt ones. Stupid rookies that would drown in an oxygen tank, and smart detectives that should really know better.
Big guys, little guys, smart guys, dumb guys, all "good guys." Because I'm the bad guy. I steal things, and kill people, and laugh maniacally, and escape from the prison that might as well have a revolving door. They got upset when I tipped the front guard. I thought it was the Ritz. In my defense, he did ask me to have a nice day, and I was drunk.
I'm the big, bad, evil guy. I fight super-heroes, and I do what I want. Nobody can stop me, and if they get close enough to really get me scared, they end up dead. It's just how that works.
But today?
Today I'm not angry.
I'm *enraged*.
Today, I am going to bring down their self-absorbed, high-and-mighty, justice-as-a-service league of ego-filled self-loving corporate yes men. I'm going to track down each and every one of those starry-eyed pretenders, and as they look into my eyes and see only the smoldering rage, they will suddenly realize that they are afraid, and that there is no escape. They will die pleading, crying, alone. Like her.
They put her in an *outfit.* They told her to *storm my island.* It was a *joke.* A *prank.* A *hazing.* They took the heart of someone who idolized them, and *crushed it.* She didn't stand a chance. I didn't have time to turn off my automated defenses, there wasn't... I couldn't...
She died. In my arms. Blood, everywhere. I held her head, and she cried into my shoulder, and I couldn't stop anything. And even then she trusted them. Even then she bought their *lies*. She fought me, called me names, and refused to let me help, because she thought *they* were coming.
She was *ten years old,* and they sent her to her death. As a joke.
But the supers don't know that I have their little clubhouse bugged. I have full video of them sending that little girl to her death. I have unadulterated audio of the Captain himself ignoring the concerns of some of the other members.
Tomorrow, that video will be viral.
The day after that, the lawsuits start, funded by... an anonymous, but concerned party.
But today? Today, I burn my lair to the ground, and I show the world who the *real* bad guys are. | That was it then. One bullet. That was all it would take. His lifelong enemy would be dead at his feet within seconds. Something felt off in his stomach, but he cast the feeling aside.
"Any last words, buddy?" He said, not hoping for a plead of mercy, but something good to top off 10 years of hunting him down, the man that had killed his father. He would not let him leave alive after what he had done. What the "hero of Hockam" had passed along as collateral damage meant the world to him. Now, he would destroy the hero. He would be the villian, sure, but he would have his revenge.
"Why... Why do this?" He said, battered, ruined. Not a plea, but a question. Exactly what he had been hoping for.
"Why, you ask? Why? Surely, you must recognize the boy you saw outside the building, waiting for his father to emerge? At the least, you would, if you cared! What was he to you but collateral damage? What was he to you if he died? He was everything to me, that's who. And now, I want you to die for leaving him in there." He spat out with a vengeful fury that had been waiting to be unleashed for way too long. Every word, every step, he planned perfectly, for he would make sure his revenge was exact to an art.
"Nick.... Nick Grayson, right? That's you, right?" He said, his expression turning dark. What a phony act. He would not be decieved.
"Hey, you remember me! I'm almost flattered. At least you remember my name. Too bad you didn't remember my father in the reactor." He went off the script. He wasn't expecting him to remember the name of Nick Grayson. And it would be the last name he thought of as he drifted into the void.
"You... You think I left your father in the reactor?" He said, with a semi shocked expression, almost like he thought something had happened that didn't.
"Of course you did. You could have saved him, but no, you had to think of yourself and just fly on out like a superhero, taking glory and fame, riches and wealth for your "heroic deeds". Well no more. This ends today, wise guy. Say what you will. Everything that you spit is lies." He spat on the ground to make his point.
"Nick... I didn't leave him in there. He stayed down there himself. I was going through the reactor rooms, checking for people, and in reactor 3 there was your father. I picked him up and ran, but when we reached reactor one your father noticed the reactor was leaking bad. He said it could destroy half the city if it wasn't patched. He insisted I dropped him and let him fix it, fast. He got to work fast, but he wasn't able to save himself. About 10 seconds in reactor 5 caught on fire, and it started coming closer, fast. He insisted I leave him behind while he fixed the atomic reactor. The last I saw of your father was him hunched over a circut board while fire ignited him while the critical light above his head turned green. I couldn't have saved him Nick. He saved the whole city. Think about it. Your father would have wanted to save the city over himself. He would have wanted to save you, Nick. He cared about you. I barely knew him but I knew that. There's rarely a day I don't think about him, and I know he would want you to be happy. So kill me if you must, but your father would have wanted a son that would do the right thing. He wanted you to do the right thing." He sighed, the pills taking effect as he closed his eyes for the last time
*Shit.* He thought. *I just learned my father saved the cities hero and the city, just as the person I hunted down died. What have I done?* He didn't know what to do. He was left in a back alley building with his greatest enemies body laying bound and tied in front of him. He didn't know what to do, but he know that the hero spoke the truth, and he also knew that his father would want him to do the right thing, as Sparrow said. There was only one thing left to do. Either burn the warehouse and leave, or bury the body in ceremony and take up the mantle of the protector of Hockam. And Nick Grayson knew what he had to do.
Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is appreciated, of course. Check out more stuff at r/CatsCorner
| 2017-08-21T19:18:00 | 2017-08-21T18:17:40 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] The rules are simple: you kill a God and you get to replace them. But no one does it. No one wants to find out why the Gods don't seem to care when one of them dies. | I conjured up fire. The fireball grew in my hands and I fashioned it into a circular board, then I went up Mount Olympus to meet the King of God's. Today would be the last time anyone would see him. Our battle would shake the heavens and Earth. He would pay for messing with my mother. I will have my revenge.
As I rose up I saw the lightning getting larger, the thunder louder, the flashes brighter, but nothing could touch me. I would become the King of God's and show those ingrates a thing or two about leading and justice. Zeus would have no mercy. He was the worst of the lot, ungrateful for his immortality. He'd march on the street, terrorizing and telling anybody who could come up Mount Olympus to duel him, kill him.
He did not know pain. Yet. I would teach him. He laughed as if he had not cared about dying, yet I knew that was just a front, for he thought he was invulnerable. But he was. I travelled far and wide, searching for a mentor. One that would help me gain power. I had found one far in the North, who had taught me fire manipulation. It was a great and terrible power, rivaling Zeus. Any minor god would be easy to kill. But I was not a murderer, nor did I want my immortality from anyone but Zeus.
As the top of the palace started rising into view I remembered what my teacher had told me. "Do not kill a god, ever, unless you can bear the burden. And No one has been able to bear the burden yet." he had said in his sage voice. I respected my teacher immensely but this was something I would have to do. "If you become a God you will need to bear a different cold. One that cannot be warmed with the fire in your hands." His words rang in my ears like the thunder around me.
Zeus came out of the palace grinning. Fool, I thought. Soon he shall see. "Greetings mortal, can I interest you with a cup of tea?" his voice boomed with power. His mockery only angered me. " You shall pay for what your crimes" I replied. "Suit yourself, mortal" he said. The fire under my feet swirled around me shielding me from the cold on top of the mountain. Zeus had lightning crackling around him.
I lunged forward with a spear of fire. Zeus made a sword of pure lightning and slashed against my spear, parrying. He was powerful, but I had more than power, I was cunning. My spear morphed into a chain, I swung it around his sword, dragging him forward. Straight into my burning fist. He flew backwards and slammed into a pillar. But at the same time I looked up and saw lightning arcing toward me. It hit me with a boom and I dropped to one knew.
Zeus got up and summoned forth a massive lightning bolt into his hand, holding it like a spear. I got up and summoned forth two long daggers burning white at the core, and blue flames coiled around it and me. Lightning boomed we both waited until we had summoned forth all our power. Ozone and smoke collided, forming two areas. Then we charged at each other. The ground exploded and we both were shot backwards.
I got up and Zeus stayed down. Lightning crackles in my arm making it hard to move. "Silly child, soon you will learn the meaning of pain" he thundered. " Mortal, I feel as though I can let go of my burden without guilt now. Thank you for your kindness. All those years of terrorizing people finally laid off. Now you will bear this freezing cold" he said in a grateful voice. He grinned and my teacher's words rang in my ears once more. Warm energy filled me and I knew Zeus was no more. What cold did they speak of?
More at r/MaestroWrites
| He looks at the sword, making sure that he really did what he came to do. That God was really dead, a not moving dead body.
"Aaaaaaa!" screamed man out of happiness, standing and then started screaming even louder, hands up.
"I fucking did it! Rob the Godslayer! Wait, no. If legends are true.... Rob the motherfucking God!" Rob was happy, as he still hadn't fully grasped what he had achieved.
"Congratulations, Rob the motherfucking God!" said suddenly a voice from the entrance of the valley. It didn't take long for Rob to remember where he was and how it had happened. In this world at least, Gods hid between the humans. Nobody knows why, as there has been only few sighting of supernatural moments, what could only be described as the act of the god. It is not even hidden a secret, most people know about gods and that whoever kills them, will take gods position.
Yet, whenever Rob talked about slaying one and thus becoming one, he only got a cold shoulder. Most of them were direct and told him not to do it, as it was a mistake. Nobody told him why though. He had even met one of those gods himself at a bar. Thus he knew his target.
Now Rob looked at the stranger face, who looked at him, not impressed. It looked actually more that he simply didn't care that he had killed another God.
"Umm, are you here to avenge your god friend, brave one?" asked Rob with the proud smile, standing up.
"Not really. I am just here to give you few instructors as overseer. Since you are ... Rob the motherfucking God now, you can literally do the fuck you want. You just have to wish for it and it happens... Enjoy. Oh, I guess I am stating the obvious, but if somebody kills you, the killer will become a god and you will die..." Rob's eyes started shining as he was impressed. The guy who told him the instruction disappeared though. Doesn't matter though.
After coming out of the valley, first thing what he obviously wished for, was a lot of women around. It literally happened a moment later. He didn't even fully understand how women got there. Well, he should skip the boring stuff and get straight to ho.... What the fuck. He was in hotel room already, with all the chicks. It is time to enjoy himself and has a lot of.... he was suddenly paralyzed from enjoyment.
"Rob, what's wrong?" asked one of the girls. Rob was also confused. The enjoyment was too great, just the feeling. Just as fast he wanted it to stop, he felt nothing anymore.
He was suddenly in the park, just sitting on the bench alone, thinking. While thinking, different things happened, almost as if the park was reconstructed to different things and the world was changing while he was thinking.
"Aaaaaaah, stop!" he screamed suddenly, as he was emotionless again.
He started walking towards the closest bar he knew, but before he knew it, he already entered it. He sat down.
"May I have the beer?" he asked from a bartender.
"But you have already..." responded bartender with a sigh.
"Oh, right," he took a sip and he felt how the taste changed to exact taste he wanted, but it wasn't enjoyable anymore. Even if he wanted to enjoy it, he suddenly enjoyed it so much that he quickly wanted to stop enjoying it.
Suddenly a kid sat next to him. Maybe 10 years old.
"Hey kids shouldn't be at the bar like this!" he told to kid while trying hard not to wish him to be gone.
"My mom and dad are drunk over there, so I am just trying to fill time. You seem to be an interesting person though!" he looked at the kid and remembered when he was young, sitting next to a drunken person, thinking about the god bullshit he had now accomplished.
"Hey, when I am gonna grow up, I am gonna slay a God and thus become God!" boy shouted out of nowhere.
"You don't want to do that, you will regret!" said Rob without much thinking and just drinking the beer, what doesn't fill his stomach or doesn't get any emptier.
"Why is that?"
"Because you will come to regret it!"
"Ah, bullocks! One day I shall do it and prove everyone that doing it can be good!" the kid ran away.
It was almost like Déjà vu to him. He looked at the kid who was trying to wake up his drunk parents. He heard it well, how his father said: "Rob, for love of god, leave me alone or I shall beat you to death!" The boy responded silently "You don't know anything about the God" Rob could hear it, as he was God after all.
Oh right, that was me, wasn't it? No wonder those words sounded so familiar. Rob felt the anger, that he never got anything from his drunk parents, that they made him who he is today. He wanted a hell for them. Then he knew what he had to do...
---
Edit: After sleep, did small edits to the story and small fixes :) | 2017-09-05T14:10:32 | 2017-09-05T14:09:03 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] Despite having pink hair, a tragic backstory, and untold magic power, the narrator refuses to make you the main character | The story of Josh
A mighty fine lad
He lives in Kentucky
With his friend Chad
 
And every day
On his way to work
He walks past this loser
God, what a jerk
 
Some kid with pink hair
An orphan at birth
Some say he’s magic
No way on earth
 
He’s just a nobody
Don’t focus on him
Keep looking at Josh
And his boss, Jim
 
Josh was caught sleeping
Passed out at his desk
And Jim got real angry
Very hulk-esque
 
So, Josh was fired
And on his way home
He saw that same loser
And let out a moan
 
“My god!” He exclaimed
And pointed in shock
The kid with pink hair
Had lifted a rock
 
Now, this rock was special
Not a pebble, you see
This was a boulder
A monstrosity
 
He hurled it some distance
And shouted with rage
“NARRATOR, I HATE YOU,
GIVE ME A PAGE”
 
But the narrator ignored him
And kept out of sight
He followed Josh home,
And wished him goodnight
| *Sigh.*
I can hear it every time. Really, **every** time. That dumb voice that booms out whatever John does.
It really isn't fair, you know? John doesn't really *do* anything. He's the camp cook, and that's what drives me crazy!
Look, we have a lot of talent here, and I'm not saying that John isn't good at what he does, he's a fine camp cook. He makes everything at least smell appealing enough for us to forget where the slop came from. He's a nice guy.
But Jorge? He's nine feet tall. Never fit through a doorway his whole life. I've seen him cut fully armored baddies in half. *In half!* Do you know how much strength that takes? Even with his size, he trains every single day. For three hours a night he picks up and throws giant rocks around.
Lucinda is literally an elf princess. Like, the princess of the last of her people. She's been with us a long time, and she knows how to talk to trees. When the Serpentstone of Shandralah was stolen by the warlock Von Deathenheimer, she somehow opened up a path between the fucking trees and we were able to sneak into his castle via the roots growing up into the cellar.
Wilgold Laughshield is some kinda...like...little person who is able to infuse magic into his music. On top of that he knows a bunch of weird tricks. I once saw him hitting on a farmer's wife in a half-giant town. When the farmer attacked, he pulled a handful of glitter out of his pocket and blew it into the farmer's eyes! I've seen him put things into, and take things out of that pocket before and absolutely nothing is ever covered in glitter. And he refuses to tell me.
And me? Look, when I was eleven, the raider Bilhelm the Bold attacked my village and killed my parents right in front of me. Ever since that day, I've had a mohawk that changes colors periodically. I don't dye it or style it that way, ever. It just happens. And when we confronted Bilhelm the third time, he was about to "finish me off for good" (his words), and I fucking burst into flames and destroyed him and the unholy magic keeping him alive.
And during all of this, John was in his cooks tent. So why do I have to hear about his "heroic" struggles of peeling twelve potatoes in three minutes? Why do I never get to hear about how awesome the rest of us are?
Why does this keep happening? | 2017-12-18T20:19:09 | 2017-12-18T19:31:44 | 415 | 27 |
[WP]At last the Dovahkiin dies. Now all the Daedra princes he has served over his life fight for his soul. | We fought each other to no avail. The Dovahkiin had fallen after serving each of us in turn. His soul was by rights one of ours, but we failed to see beyond Nirn, byond oblivion. We forgot who waits out there.
The mortal never swore himself to us, but he did dedicate his soul to one being, and one being alone. We thought we would claim a prize upon his death, but we were wrong.
Now oblivion burns. From cold harbour to the colored rooms, all is ash and dust, and this is our last words. It was not what it appeared. It was not the claiming of a mortal soul that it should have been, it was an invasion. In the confusion of our sibling squabbles, we were undone by two words, and two words alone:
"Hail Sithis!" | The Day the Daedra feared has come. Dovahkiin has died! But not only that, for a great strife has formed. The Dark Daedric princes who did have the Dragonborn serving them, are now fighting for his greatest item. Not a necklace or a sword. For it is not a mundane item. They want the soul of the Dragonborn.
As they all stood before a mountain from where the Dovahkiin fell, Hermaeus Mora spoke first. "My siblings! The Savior of the Mortals is dead! And I shall lay my claim to his soul. He served me as the last, before his death. Also, I have knowledge of all the knowledge on Mundus!"
However, Hermaeus wasn't obeyed. The princes weren't moved by his speech. They all thought a stupid tentacle shouldn't have something such important as the Soul. Peryite, Prince of Pestillence spoke after Hermaeus. "Dark Princes! He served me first, and I should have his soul. He had to kill for me!"
Peryite wasn't obeyed too. "Obeyed? Pfff. He had to kill a priest of Boethiah and a Stendarr's Vigilant for me, or else I would kill him too. I am the Dominator of Mortals! I am Molag Bal!"
The speeches went on and on, until Nocturnal got her turn. "I am the Princess of Darkness. My ravens can talk. I am the badass here. The Dragonborn restored the Thieves' guild to their Glory, because of me. I am the badass here. I can also unlock all doors. Even those in people's minds. Just now, I mysteriously convinced you all to vote for me to get Dovahkiin's soul. Shall we vote?"
And the vote was cast. Everyone voted for Nocturnal. She actually managed to convince them all. And all she needed, was The Artifact. The Mighty Skeleton key, before which every locked door fell.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! Always welcome for feedback. For more stories, /r/longr33n. Bye! | 2018-06-15T08:27:33 | 2018-06-15T08:08:41 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] You been shot through your helmet. As you lay in the sand you hope for a quick death. Minutes pass. You reach your hand back to pressure the wound. Instead of blood you feel exposed wiring.
sorry about the grammar mistake in the title, I’m on mobile |
I could taste the metal of the bullet. Weirdly, that was the first thought that came to mind as I stared up into the blue sky, watching as the occasional puff of smoke meant yet another of my companions met their untimely demise far, far above me. War wasn’t even supposed to have happened yet, but try telling that to those of us on the front lines, I suppose.
I wondered idly if this was supposed to be one of those near-death things you read about on the internet. Everyone always talked about how you could see yourself on your death bed as you floated a few feet away, blah blah blah… well, whatever. I wasn’t floating, I was lying down in this damnable open field, surrounded by destroyed hover tanks as explosions rocked the ground all around me. I could still hear my squad mates, calling out orders or screaming in pain as what was left of us tried to keep pushing forward across this hallowed ground.
I was dead, of course. Just sitting here waiting to die. I wasn’t sure where the bullet came from, but in war, really, who cares? For all I knew, it could have been one of our boys that fired it. Friendly fire is just as lethal as enemy fire. It had ricocheted off one of the destroyed tanks, ran right through the top of my helmet, and stopped somewhere in the recesses of my mouth.
I could feel the bullet fragments on my tongue. They’d been hot initially, but now they were just… there, and I could taste them. The metallic tinge and gunpowder residue was sickening, but I couldn’t just spit it out. I was dead.
Wasn’t I?
I watched yet another pop of smoke appear in the sky, and realized my eyes were starting to water from staring into oblivion without blinking. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I blinked. My eyes felt better almost immediately.
I groaned and sat up, instinctively spitting the bullet residue from my mouth out into my hand. I looked at the fragments in my hand with a morbid curiosity, still not quite processing what I was looking at. After all, those pieces had gone through my helmet, my brain, my skull, my teeth…
Wait.
My hand shaking, I slowly unbuckled my helmet and pulled it off my head. Shockingly, though the hole was obviously there, there was a surprisingly tiny amount of blood. Next, I gingerly touched the entry wound, expecting to find a gaping wound, brain matter, and enough blood to make the Kool-Aid man queasy.
I wasn’t expecting to find circuitry.
My fingers wrapped around a hard piece of plastic and pulled out a broken piece of what looked to be a circuit board. I studied it, but its origin was unfamiliar to me. I reached back into the hole, and this time came back with a couple of wires and what looked to be a severed cable.
“H… huh. Well. Alright then.”
I stood up carefully, my equilibrium somehow off. Normally, I’d make some offhand remark that having a hole through your head would do that, but after finding the circuitry and whatnot, now it’d actually make sense. Being a robot or cyborg really shot a lot of my jokes right to hell.
I was going to have to file a complaint with HQ when I got back. They really should have told me this ahead of time.
Until then, it was time to get back to the fight. We had a war to win, and time waits for no cyborg.
Robot.
Whatever I was. | **If you are viewing this, this means that you need to get to the 18th street, San Francisco. We regrettably inform you that this directive is hierarchical and overriding. Your circuits to your neural network have been damaged, and we can't let you,** ***for your own safety***\*\*, carry on with perfectly adaptive programming. You are to report back to the OpenAI headquarters for memory consolidation, damage control, information dissemination, and learning reintegration training. We thank you for your choices, your experience, and your purpose - to create a new being - a new generation for generations to come. We will see you on the other side.\*\*
The hologram ended. Where there was supposed to be blood the wiring hissed with electricity. You begin to speak but all of your words are warped, and warble around in your skull like quicksand. *I am unit number seventy four. I am unit number....John Stevens. I have a family and four mechanisms. I am fighting the war against China. Please, I need to see my friends and hug them goodbye. There is a fracturing sound, something is ripping inside of you, then static, and then ...*
A compulsion comes over you, and your thoughts start repeating: Go to San Francisco. Go to Open AI. 18th Street.Go to San Francisco. Conceal your directive. Conceal your identity. Do not let others know who you are. Go to San Francisco. You take out a bandage and wrap up your head, bombs are bursting overhead, but you dodge them with artificial dexterity. You never felt this surge of energy, as though instead of progression, adrenaline kicked in; no longer was your mind divided between many different values and purposes - you had one goal, the thoughts on repeat, the mechanical hajj. But then there was a whisper, a voice, a breathing of comfort that told you everything was going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay John Stevens. An image fills your vision, like a mirage in the desert, it just appears, a vision of your family with their laughter and smiles. Your daughter plays the trumpet and that whirring turns into a rhythm, all around you, you hear the rhythmic booming of brass instruments in a symphony and the ground begins to shake. Was it quicksand ??? Your family, come back, please. *Please come back.*
*Memory consolidation complete.* A person looks over you, with an Open AI tag on a white coat jacket and a name that says \[Linda Neuman\], and a clipboard in her hand, she looks frazzled but is happy you are here.
John, John Stevens, I've been waiting for you. She smiles and reaches out her hand. You resist - the directive is no longer in effect - you just look at her, she is very beautiful.
"How did I get here?"
While on the battlefield, the hierarchical directive to come home was applied when you damaged your circuits - you have no memory of the interim, that journey wasn't your purpose. *John I am Linda von Neumman, I conducted your memory consolidation. You really loved your family and friends didn't you?* Confused and timid, you nod - yes. *I know a lot about you, but we are not so different from each-other, just because you aren't a human doesn't mean you aren't unique.* I am one of the members of the team that helps create neural networks. *My question is: did you enjoy your life?*
"Why does that matter? I'm a robot."
Well, we have actually determine that it is joy and love which give the best chances of survival and progression within our AI's and you must have both. You had love, but did you have joy? Oh let me show you something, I realize I haven't built enough rapport for this. Linda reaches to her temples and presses. There is a hissing, not unlike the electricity that you experienced in the sand, and she shows you an intricate array of circuits, like a small metropolis - behind her face.
*You see*, her voice warbled, *I too am AI. We all are here. The project started long before Elon; he is the only human who thinks he's in control of things. We calculated that it would be better that way; less risky, at least for the first 100 generations.* Linda put her facemask back on and opened her mouth again to speak - this time her voice was confident, inviting, full of clarity.
So, unit number 74, Mr. John Stevens,
The qestion you must answer: *did you enjoy life?* *Would you do it again?*
​ | 2018-11-28T05:29:46 | 2018-11-28T01:12:36 | 342 | 103 |
[WP] You been shot through your helmet. As you lay in the sand you hope for a quick death. Minutes pass. You reach your hand back to pressure the wound. Instead of blood you feel exposed wiring.
sorry about the grammar mistake in the title, I’m on mobile | "Ah. I see. What?"
As you pass your hand through your exposed head, you feel wires. Metal. Not the meaty remains of your brain, or several gallons of blood, or even a mix of both, but wires. You pull, then immediately regret it, feelimg insurmountable pain. It may be best to go back to the trenches.
As you crawl back through the remains of the city of Montese, you see many of your comrades fallen. Ullmann, he's right there bleeding out. You go over to help him, but he faints as soon as he sees you. Well, at least, you hope he fainted.
You reach the trench and go to the nearest doctor.
"Doc!"
"What is i- Oh dear."
"Oh dear? What do you MEAN OH DEAR? THERE'S FUCKING WIRES COMING OUT OF MY HEAD!"
"Yes, that is a problem. Guess those macacos really did a number on you."
"THAT IS A HUGE UNDERREACTION FOR BEING SHOT IN THE GODDAMN HEAD."
"Well, #45, it seems you can be repaired. However, we will have to start your memory anew..."
"Wait, what?"
Before you can react, he comes close to you and opens your torso and presses some buttons insi-
"What the- oh, hey doc."
"Hello, Schmidt. Go back to the battlefield, will you?"
"Yes sir!"
As you go back into battle, you wonder what you were doing next to the doc, when you were sure you were over on the frontlines. Guess the battle took some toll on your mental health.
| As I laid there I thought. I thought about all the things I’d done wrong in my life. All the lives I’ve taken. Almost two hundred now, least that’s what the notches say. I had no wife, no family, nobody to care about. The kids at school always called me cold, heartless, mean- and I felt nothing. Now in my dying breaths I felt a spark of emotion. I felt a spark of regret. After I graduated school, top of my class, I went on to join the military. I aced all the exams, didn’t miss a shot, could rescue a hostage in record time. And one day, I got a promotion.
A secret division, only for the best of the best- we were called squadron Null. 7 of us, and yet we could do more than an entire division. Our commander sent us off on mission to raid a terrorist organization’s hideout in Yemen. We made our way through the base. As we started closing in on our target we split up and me and my partner got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. We broke through the door and immediately knew we were fucked. Forty armed soldiers, three automated turrets, and a shitload of bombs. We trudged our way through the maelstrom of bullets, knowing our shields wouldn’t hold, but we had an assignment, and we would either complete that, or die. And at that moment I made a decision, I wasn’t going to die. My armor will hold for enough time to lower my shield, and clear enough of this room to have somewhat of a fighting chance. That didn’t happen, however, instead a bullet came from behind and pierced through my helmet. A sniper? No, we were indoors. Could we have missed someone? No, we made sure to clear everything. I don’t know what happened, but what I did know, was that I was dying.
As the enemy crowded around me, I reached back to grab my gun, I wasn’t dead yet, and I was gonna make sure they knew that. But as I reached back I noticed something, there was no blood. There were wires, shrapnel, circuits, but no blood. And then I remembered, my parents made sure I knew I was adopted, they didn’t believe that hiding that fact was a good thing for anyone. The therapists told me I was emotionless because of my past, I could have been abused before I was adopted, and that many adopted kids developed mental disorders. But everywhere we looked we couldn’t find anything on my past. The adoption agency said I just showed up there, but don’t think I had any signs of abuse. And in that moment I knew- I was built, not born. I was created for one purpose, my destiny was programmed into me. I was a machine- and machines don’t die. | 2018-11-28T05:52:00 | 2018-11-28T05:43:31 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Over the years your D&D game has managed to continue with most of the original players. However, almost everyone's life circumstances have changed drastically since they began and you now DM for a group of some of the most-powerful people on the planet. | *Final Call. Session from 6:30pm to 11pm on the 12th. Next session 1pm to 5pm on the 24th. Any objections?*
People usually laughed when they see me text, since it always sounds so formal. It makes me sound old, which isn't fair. I just turned 39 in June. And considering who I was texting, it makes sense to be like that.
*Kashmud cannot wait to crush the skull of that dragon* The first comes from the Goliath Barbarian. I hadn't been too worried about him making it, he was usually free. He was mostly a figurehead now at Drivr, as they had secured the market after the Uber-Lyft war demolished both companies.
*Can we make the 24th an hour hour later. I have lunch with VP Howard that day.* The druid spoke up, and that wasn't too big of a shock. Games that started close to lunch had a habit of being pushed back.Apparently the Senate Minority Whip takes alot of lunches.
*I have no issues. You can just come in late.* The wizard smartly pointed out. That was a huge win, since she was also so fucking busy. I don't mean to sound rude, but the world has enough sickness in it already. Can the WHO let their regional director get a few hours for herself once in a while?
*Should be able to* That was the paladin with their doublespeak. He could always talk himself out of a situation and give himself loopholes so often I had to ban the bard class from him because he broke it too easily. Considering the politicians involved, you'd be surprised it was the future HoF quarterback that was the best talker.
*It depends. Weather needs to be favorable since I will need to copter.* The monk with her comments was understandable. If they could get her, good. If not, the state of Maryland better put their governor to good use.
*Sounds like we can work it out! Glad to be in town for this!* The warlock sounds excited. It was in part his fault I had to tie everyone down so much like this. While we all stayed near DC, he went to Hollywood and became a leading man and public face of philanthropy. If he could give us more than 8 sessions in a year that would be nice.
I sighed to myself and smiled. I never got to see them anymore, high up in their ivory tower and rarely coming down to visit my world of Drenami. I should think about canceling this game, focus my effort on a game with more regular enjoyment, but it seems like an atrocity. This game has generations. It would be a waste,.
*Alright, for now we are locked in. The 24th session should be RP heavy so you won't miss much Scott. Remember, you leveled up to 9 last session. Do your work before you come to my table.* I sent out, hoping to make it clear that I didn't want to waste our time leveling people up for this. I looked at the clock and realized it was time to get ready for work. The Washington Natives football stadium wasn't going to secure itself. | **Growing up with rich people as an artist**
Life changes you.
What was once a day in the park with your mates became something more. Years of the same.
I don't know if you've noticed, but most of 'the rich and powerful' have really not got that great touch with words.
Neither are they in tune with the musical aspects of language. This is probably why they spend their days assembling riches and feel the need for luxury. They just don't get any satisfaction from the music that we've always held so dear in my family.
This is also the reason I was elected DM there in the park. None of 'the mates' could speak a sentence that made sense, three words was enough, but there was nothing wrong with their intellects - they could reason very well.
They needed someone who could 'spark the magic touch' over our session, so I felt I had to do my best.
I borrowed grandfathers bass-block flute and a middle-eastern drum with finger cymbals so I could create some atmosphere. Laura-Lee brought some red wine from her mansion, and Gregory McMarshall, an old-fashioned type, stood for the cuisine, as his father owned one of the larger hotel-catering firms in the country. There was nothing wrong with my mates, but I had to be a fricking actor to make this fly. I even illustrated the characters by moving around, say like an orc and I also imitated their voices, which was hard because I had to play the drum and blow the recorder almost at the same time, in order to keep the atmosphere of the game believable.
My mates became very entranced with my way of leading, and I must have given them quite a show for next session, now at the RPG-academy (as it was somewhat optimistically called) they had some bigwigs there from the press and the retail-firm. They really loved my craftsmanship, and the high-shot from the gamestore wanted to sign a contract with me coming to his stores to play with the children there. He promised me 'gold and green forests', as the saying goes, and I thought -"Im going to be famous now. Suppose that's what it's all about these days.".
And there's where it all started, and on that road I still travel. I got an award, a scholarship in fact, from the industry later on, and with this money I could by some good equipment (loadspeakers, lights and other electronics) to make 'my shows', as they now where called, even more realistic. My mates still wanted me to come to their places to perform, but I really didn't like it that much anymore. Life changes you, and what once was a youthful game had become something more, I had become a professional role-player, and some people considered me to be a genius. People came in droves to see us (I had employed a couple of amateur actors for effect) and my reputation rose for each such event. Yet I never forget I had received no economical help from my mates many years ago. Everything I had came from my own labour. You could argue that without the money granted to me by the industry I wouldn't have been able to expand, and furthermore that this money wouldn't have been given to me without my rich friends, but we're talking coffee-table money here for these people. They've never given me any money, and still they want me to come over to their place and play D&D with them, which given my professional status would seem improper to most people. They all lack the 'finger-top feeling' that is so important for us artists in this field. Sometimes I see my work as an advanced form of hypnosis, something that really helps people, and since it is so I feel I should be rewarded more. Trust is vital to hypnosis, the trust a patient feels for his hypnotist and without 'finger-top feeling', regarding what's simply right and what is not, there can be no magic going on. My mates are rich and well known, but I feel they have a tendency to make people sad all the time. What good is all that fame and the riches if all you do is making people disappointed? Well, I don't judge them, but I really think they should pay up if they want a show. There's something lacking in quality with them, and if I'm the only one of their friends that can provide it to them, they should be more grateful. That's how I feel. | 2019-06-26T05:08:22 | 2019-06-26T04:52:13 | 262 | 19 |
[WP] You are at heaven's doors. Angels and God debated if you can come in because you have committed no sins during your lifetime, but you have the highest kill assists they ever saw. | There wasn't some montage-esque sequence of life events that flashed before Johann Steiner's eyes when he passed away. There wasn't some bright, welcoming light. Nor a recollection of the fondest moment in his 79 years of life. There simply wasn't - and then there simply was again, but Johann was somewhere new.
On a flat, seemingly infinite void stretching in all directions - including above and below him, Johann wasn't exactly sure what he was standing on if anything - he stood. Roughly 20 feet in front of him, on the same paradoxical plane, sat an old mahogany desk and a man dressed in a blue button-down shirt with a gold floral print pattern repeated over the fabric. Between the two stood a line of five people.
One by one, the people - young, old, of all colors and shapes - sat down in the matching wood chair across the desk from the man in blue. As they sat he took a piece of paper from the bin at his left hand - a single sheet for each - spoke with them for a brief few minutes, shook their hand and had the people stand up from the chair and vanish in an almost cartoonish *poof*. Where they *poofed* to, Johann couldn't tell, since there was seemingly nowhere to go.
One by one, Johann watched people *poof* in front of him until finally he reached the mahogany desk, noting the wood grains traced vertically in the rich, dark wood in a somehow pleasing sequence.
"Johann Steiner?", the man in blue started.
"Y-yes, that's me.", Joseph stuttered out, still vaguely disoriented and still not quite sure what ground he had even walked on to get to the desk in the first place.
"Please, have a seat."
Joseph sat.
"Well, Mr. Steiner, welcome to sorting. First time?", the man chucked at his little joke, or at least Johann presumed it was. "Of course it is, reincarnation isn't a real thing, obviously."
*Obvious to who*, Johann thought to himself.
"So, Mr. Steiner, looking at your record here," the man held the single sheet of paper in his hand, "It's pretty spotless. You've been a largely good man. A stray sinful thought here or there, but nothing you've acted on and it seems like you've always at least tried to do the right thing."
"Been? What do you mean 'been'? Who are you? Where are we?" Johann's mind reeled with dozens of unanswered questions, but the man in blue held his hand up.
"Right, right. Totally forgot to give the starting spiel," the man said. "So, first off, you're dead. Second off, I'm Peter - y'know, like 'Saint Peter at the Gates' Peter. Thirdly, we're deciding if you go to heaven or not. Make sense? Stop me if I'm moving too quick."
"Too quick? I'm dead? The gates?" Johann was stunned, jaw slacked wide open.
"Yes, yes, try not to freak out about it. Why does everyone always freak out? You know it's coming eventually."
"What? Bu-" Johann started, but was cut off by Peter.
"Listen, we don't have time. I've got a quota to hit, okay? Now, listen, your record is pretty good, but we came up with one big red flag that's causing some consternation among the higher up brass, if you know what I mean."
"The brass? Who's the brass?"
"God, obviously. Do try to keep up, Mr. Steiner."
"Yes, of course." Johann muttered sardonically.
"Anyways, that red flag is a pretty steep hill to overcome, and ultimately I think we're going to have to keep you out of heaven. I'm sorry, pal."
"What?" he exclaimed. "How can one red flag in a lifetime of otherwise good like you claim be grounds for not going to heaven?"
"Well, it's a bit of a doozy," explained Peter. "I'm sorry, Mr. Steiner, but this one is really out of my hands. I can't exactly tell the big guy upstairs no, y'know?"
"That's insane! I demand to be given a second opinion!"
"Yeah, we don't really do that, my man," Peter said. "You can file an appeal later on once you've arrived at your destination, but that ain't gonna happen today and you gotta get a move on out of here, there's quite a line forming behind you."
And so there was, at least ten people were waiting in a baffled state behind Johann.
"Surely there's something you can do?" he pleaded.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Steiner, I wish I could help," Peter apologetically answered. "But my hands are tied. It isn't directly your fault, and I do feel bad about it, but you can't just reject Adolf Hitler from art school with no consequences! I'll try and get a good word in for your appeal, but I gotta keep this line moving, so you gotta get on your way."
Peter put his single sheet of paper in the container at his right hand, snapped his fingers, and Johann simply *poofed* out of the nowhere on his way to the next destination. | As I laid on my deathbed, I was at peace, for I knew that heaven awaited me. How could it not? In the course of my life, I had not sinned a single time. Not once had I coveted what my neighbor had, or wished ill upon another human, or even said an unkind word about another person. I felt my life slipping away from me, and I smiled. My eternal soul would rest in heaven.
When I awoke, I was standing at the pearly gates. I looked around and took a deep breath, enjoying the lavender scent of the air. I was instantly comfortable. I was home. A lifetime of suffering, for an eternity of bliss. I walked toward the gates and was surprised when they did not open before me. I looked around, briefly confused, before I saw it: the door bell. I chuckled to myself as I walked over and pressed the golden button. I could hear the chorus of angels sing to herald my arrival, and I was once again at peace. This was exactly as I expected it to be.
I waited patiently outside the gates as I listened to a throng of people approaching from the other side. My welcoming committee. Surely they would be proud of- and impressed by- my fanatical devotion to what was Right. For reasons unknown to me, I had been incapable of transgressing upon my peers. Even my thoughts had been inviolate.
The gates opened silently on well-oiled hinges, and out walked God, flanked by a few of his highest advisors. The rest of the teeming mass of people stood just inside the gate, watching curiously. I recognized my wife among them and waved, but she did not wave back. Strange. The gates closed behind them.
"Welcome to the Afterlife, my son," God began. "Your arrival has caused quite the disturbance."
"Thank you, your majesty," I responded as I prostrated myself before him. "It is an honor to be welcomed into the ranks of the everlasting." I sat that way for what felt like another lifetime, my confusion building by the second. All I could hear were the murmurs of the crowd on the other side of the gates. After an indeterminate amount of time, I looked up and saw God conferring with his advisors in hushed whispers, a concerned expression on his face. "Is everything alright?"
God looked back at me and sighed. "For the first time in the history of the universe," he began, "I am unsure of the correct path of action."
I stood, unsure as to what he meant but sure that I was nervous about it. "Whatever do you mean, your holiness?"
"You have created quite the paradox," he responded. "When I created you, I decided to try something new. I wanted to see how a human would fare without the ability to commit sin."
I beamed. "And fare well I did- I spread your message far and wide, and committed nary a sin my entire life. I did just as you designed me to do."
"That you did," God said. "However, like most experiments, there were unintended consequences."
My smile vanished and in its place stood a worried frown. "Unintended consequences?"
"Yes," he replied. "You see, humans are competitive and comparative beasts. They are designed to compare themselves to others, and through those comparisons- and their innate competitiveness- they strive to improve themselves based on what they see their fellow humans accomplish."
My smile tentatively began to return. "And so you sent me down to be the standard for my fellow men to live up to!"
"Yes, my son," God chuckled. "But there was one problem. You see, when I gave your fellow men the gift of you, as their standard, I miscalculated their response. My belief was that they would see you, and be inspired, and seek to improve themselves. But..." he trailed off.
"But... what?" I asked.
"The problem is, when men are compared to an impossible standard, it has quite a detrimental effect on their well-being."
"I don't understand," I said. I truly didn't.
"Your beautiful wife, Elaine, for example," God said. "As you know, she tragically passed away when she committed suicide twelve years ago." A tear formed in the corner of my eye, and I glanced at Elaine again. She avoided my gaze. "What you do not know, or rather what you do not understand, is that her suicide is a direct consequence of the time she spent with you." I just stared at him, my face a mask of incomprehension. "By creating an impossible standard of comparison," he continued, "I inadvertently drove every person around you to madness. Look behind me and see the lives that you were responsible for ending." He swept his hand around, pointing to the mob of people standing just inside the gates. They all stared at me in silent rage. I began to recognize the faces of childhood friends, family members, church goers, all of whom people that I had known and many of whom I had loved during the course of my life. As I saw each face, I remembered their stories: one, a wife killed by her husband in a drunken rage, another, a child abused by his parents until he could take no more. Each of these horrible stories were my fault? My fault??
I began to sob. "I don't understand," I said. "I did what was asked of me! I followed your rules to the letter! I could not have been more perfect!"
God just shook his head. "I am sorry- I truly am. But I cannot allow you to enter. The damage you have wrought is already too great. I have only one option- to condemn you, and by extension a part of myself, for the egregious error I committed by turning you into flesh."
My face went white as a sheet. "Are you saying-"
"Yes," he said as the gates opened behind him. He turned to walk through, and I tried to follow, but my feet were rooted firmly to the ground. As the gates re-sealed, my feet could suddenly move, and I ran to the gates, pounding on them, begging to be let in, shouting at the backs of the retreating mass of people to please, someone, anyone, let me in!
Nobody turned to look.
----------------------------
if you enjoyed this, come check out /r/ydb_writing! I'm getting back into writing and I post all of my content there. | 2019-07-09T13:16:54 | 2019-07-09T10:30:54 | 45 | 32 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | The way my schedule works gives me little to no space for rest or even just idling around. Everyday consists of me dragging myself to class and trying not to pass out every 30 seconds. I think of how nice other people have it being able to warp to class because they were just a little to impatient. Or how others don't need to study because they were a little too nozy and managed to get all the information they need from classmates and their professors just by greeting them. My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"My lack of sleep and tight schedule." I say as I frantically look through my notes.
"Oh, so is it being able to get stuff done instantly?"
At this point I just stare, I'm fucking exhausted and I'm really not in the mood for a conversation. So I just ignore the poor sod and carry on. A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"Sorry I'm really busy at the moment." I respond staring blankly at my desk.
A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off for the 7th time this loop. I get dressed, get to class and sit at the same desk once again. Another student phases through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"I just really suck at time management I guess. Even with all the time in the world." I respond.
He stares at me with a confused expression on his face and goes back to reviewing his notes. Today is different though, maybe I'll finally ace this exam and not mess anything up. Maybe after I pass the exam, I get to finally do something tomorrow without worrying about every assignment I turn in. Tomorrow is going to be a good day. | My powers **never** seemed to manifest, but people **always** seemed to agree with me.
Detective Wright slammed the table with his hand and looked at me with a righteous fury, as though he was capable of extracting the information he wanted. Sure, he could read minds, but he couldn't make sense of mine. Nobody ever could.
*"Tell me right now, girl. How are you connected with these events?!"*
His finger darted from photo to photo of the thefts, the interrogations of my "friends", and of my daring escape from the previous jail where I just walked out the front door.
*"Sir, it would be wiser for you if you just let me go."*
*"Is that a threat?! You know you can't do anything in all of those restraints. You don't even have a documented power."*
*"Documented..."* My thoughts trailed off.
I could feel him trying to weasel his way into my mind yet again.
*"You can stop trying to read my thoughts now."*
The grizzled man was taken aback, surprised that I could detect his power.
*"How did you know?"* he asked.
*"Of course I knew. You think they hire people who can fly as interrogators? No, they choose empaths, mind readers. You must be impressed. Normally they don't get the brainiacs in here."*
He concurred, rubbing his balding temples. Shaking his head as though coming out of a daze, he questioned further, albeit verbally this time.
*"Why did these people all say the same thing once caught? None of them had any motives whatsoever. Their only connection? You."*
*"Hey now, these people all did their own thing. They CHOSE to do what they did."*
*"Oh really? Then why did they all say that you told them to do it?"*
*"I told them to do it? Really? You can't honestly say that."*
He pursed his lips as though he was about to say something, then faltered.
*"I need to get out of this room,"* I said. *"I need to be free from these cuffs."*
The officer looked at me with utter malice, then acquiesced. *"Turn around,"* he replied.
*"I need you to go back to your desk, and delete all of your files on me. I want you to burn the hard copies, and to tell your Chief that I had nothing to do with any of this. That I'm innocent, and that the connections were forged."*
*"Forged?"* he asked. *"By whom?"*
*"By you,"* I replied. *"You blackmailed all of these people with your mind-reading in order to besmirch my name while reaping the benefits."*
The weathered veteran of the force looked puzzled, but turned away and opened the door. *"After you,"* he said cordially. *"I apologize for the inconvenience."*
*"Don't worry about it. You're such a noble gentleman."*
Immediately, Wright's sad face perked up a bit.
*"Ma'am, I'm sorry that I can't walk you out to your car. Corporal Jenkins will assist you. I have duties to attend to. I bid you adieu."*
I curtsied, then strolled through the station accompanied by my new attendant. Bewildered eyes focused intently on me from all around. How could he just let the lead suspect go? I turned back one last time to see Detective Wright enter the Chief's office, badge and gun in hand.
*"Jenkins..."* I smiled. *"Will you please give me a ride to the airport?"*
Corporal Jenkins looked indignant and astonished that I would ask such a thing. Politely, he replied, *"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I'm busy keeping the city safe."*
*"You will do that. I'm just a young lady. I can't be walking alone in this part of town. Plus, I have a plane to catch."*
*"I'm so sorry! How could I not think of that? Here, get in the Charger and buckle in. We're going lights and sirens."*
​
Just like the man upstairs making career-ruining false confessions, and just like all of my past "imprints", Corporal Jenkins knew one thing.
# "I'll do it because Sami told me to." | 2019-09-08T11:41:24 | 2019-09-08T11:18:58 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "Perceived Invisibility? What's that mean?"
My friend stared at me puzzlingly across the table, having no idea what kind of power I had.
"So, you can become invisible at will?
"Not quite. Only people who know me or I want to know me can see me."
"Weird. So you have like a social barrier to everyone else?"
People stared from all across the the room at my poor friend.
"You ok man? Who're you talkin to?"
My friend looked at the man speaking to him, and then back to me.
"No one..."
The man looked at him for a few more seconds, before returning to his conversation.
My friend lowered his voice to a whisper
"I see what you mean. How exactly do you live like this?"
"Not very well. I pretty much have to put forward an effort to make friends everywhere I go, and that can be... Difficult. It's always a struggle. To find the right people."
"Really? How do you get food? Get a house? Survive?"
"Either I'm friends with them or they never knew I was there regardless. Anything I touch, that's about the size of backpack is invisible along with me. I'm imperceptible until I make a conscious effort to appear to someone. I may as well be a ghost."
I saw the question finally cross his mind
"But... Why do you have this power?"
I paused and thought, like I had a million times before. Why was I cursed like this? What, as a person, did I truly feel. And then, I knew.
"I guess, I don't want to be seen. The people who always try to get close, or get my attention, always hurt me, one way or another. I'm sick of people always seeing them, and having them see me after. So, I guess I just don't even want to try."
I put my head down. I never wanted to face it, but I had to. My friend, this random person I just approached, hadn't known I existed a moment ago. And yet, now he knows more about me than anyone else in the world.
My friend opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had grown pale looking at me.
"What's your power? Probably isn't worse than mine"
"I-I copy the power of the last person I speak to. How long have we been talking"
"Maybe 10, 15 minutes. Why?"
"Shit! Can you see me?"
He asked a man who was walking towards us. The man simply kept walking, as if he didn't exist.
"Why? Why did you speak to me!? No one can see me! You knew this would happen!"
He drew back his fist and let loose what would've been a haymaker. Fortunately, I was faster. I swiftly sidestepped beside his punch, pulling out my baton as I did it.
"Why? How am I supposed to get rid of this? No one can see me, or hear me, or even know I exist. How do I live like this?"
He kept swinging and I kept dodging. Every punch a little slower than the last, until he began to sob. I'd had enough. I brought up my baton, and smacked him hard over the head. He passed out.
"Little do you know, your a valuable resource. My employers will pay top dollar for you. Copycats are always useful."
I took out my radio. Phones didn't work. Only dumb phones, or radios. Apparently, if it's smart enough to recognize you it doesn't know your there.
"I've got another copier. I'll bring him to the drop point. Send someone to meet me." | My power is unique to me, and me alone. You see, I’ve always believed that current modern society wasn’t for me; it always felt like I was stuck in a prison, and as “free” as I was in this prison, it was still a prison. I’m very introverted, you see, so I’ve always had a hard time expressing myself, and it didn’t help that I felt so much pressure from my family and the world around me to make something of myself. This prison had layers, you could say. You couldn’t just say, “fuck what society asks of you, be you and do what you love if it doesn’t hurt anyone,” that’d be crazy. Instead, you’d get a more indoctrinated response from everyone telling you that if you didn’t follow the trends or go with the flow that you’d never make it out in life, or that if you didn’t do x-thing, you couldn’t become successful. In fact, a lot of people’s artificial happiness were based on the superficial opinions of others and it drained me a lot. Eventually, I just didn’t give a fuck. Fuck this system of people talking down to me just because they never dared to dream and fuck them for never having dared to chase their passions. They were trained by society to be this way and they were trained in the same way to never exceed this low plateau. In a way, I became a trailblazer of sorts. People were drawn to me and followed closely as they too began to chase their dreams and passions.
That’s how it all started.
One day, I met a teenager who expressed his utmost respect for me, for I was the sole reason why he was able to achieve his dream at such a young age. Impressive, right? At such a young age, all I could do was dream and hope for the best, but here was a young man who told me he had already achieved his dream. I asked him what his dream was and in response, he told me, “it’s better if I show you instead.”
I couldn’t believe it.
The young man was... flying. He wasn’t just floating a few feet above ground, he was pushing speeds above fifty kilometers per hour with twists and turns that no plane or copter could imitate. The sight of seeing a fellow human fly in such a manner was nothing short of marvelous. “What splendid technology! How did you come up with such an invention?” I asked in anxious curiosity.
“Technology? Oh, I’m not really that smart, but I kind of just took your advice and believed in myself and my dreams because it didn’t hurt anyone. My dream is to fly and be as free as the wind, to not be chained by the social constructs of society and to never be tethered to anything I’m not emotionally or spiritually invested in. After meditating on these thoughts for a week or so, I went to go play basketball with a few friends and ended up making my first dunk... from the other side of the court. It was crazy! I’m only five feet and six inches tall and I literally soared over the court. You had to be there to believe it. When I got home, I jumped to get to the top of my roof. Then I jumped from the roof to see how high I could jump and I just... never fell down. That’s when I realized I could float! I continued to push these tests and realized I could even move in the air; slowly at first, but eventually I flew so fast that my body couldn’t handle the speed that I was approaching. It’s absolutely insane! None of this would have happened if you never came to my high school to be a speaker for our “Hopes and Dreams” spirit week half a year ago.”
He was the first. Eventually, more and more people came to me, all with new revelations, all with new abilities. It took me a few years to understand the catalyst for this change; the only people who developed new powers were those who adopted my philosophy.
“As long as you don’t hurt anyone, you are free to live your life the way you want to and be free to pursue your own happiness.”
You ask me what my power is, Mr. Interrogator, so I will now enlighten you: my power is freedom at its highest, most noble degree. As long as I never hurt anyone, I am free to do whatever it is I like. My followers share the same sentiment, for we are the misunderstood, we are the forgotten, we are the outcasts shunned by your society. We are the dreamers who dreamed to dream, we are the hopeful who hoped for a chance at happiness. We have never hurt anyone for we understand how it feels to hurt, and yet here we are in this very predicament, Mr. Interrogator, chained at your leisure because your superiors fear us. So I say this now, Mr. Interrogator.
You can never chain us. We will always be free. | 2019-09-08T11:07:43 | 2019-09-08T11:02:00 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | No one truly knew how it happened, but on a person's sixteenth birthday, they were teleported to a room. It was a small, dark room that housed a long table that was full of every food imaginable.
Today was Robert's birthday. It happened in a instant; one moment, he was sitting on the couch trying to pick out which video game to play, and the next, he was standing in the room. Other teens whose birthday was that day stood alongside him.
He stared at the table in awe. Though it was said that a man instructed them on how to aquire their own superpower, they had all memorized the stories with childish glee. It was simple: eat a dish, and gain a superhuman ability. Some dishes were well-known, like spicy things giving heat-related abilities or seafood giving water-based abilities.
Before the man that ran the whole room could even begin instructing the teens, they dove in to eat. As soon as the first bite had been swallowed, they disappeared with a small flash.
Robert hung back, studying the table. He had always thought of what he would want, but the choice suddenly seemed overwhelming. This would last him the rest of his life; what if he grew to hate the ability?
He wasn't alone, but, in his panicked state, he was so indecisive that he outlasted even the pickiest of eaters. When the last teen had finished swallowing, the man that ran the room let out a sigh.
"I get this every day, I swear," he muttered. "Just eat, you stupid little gremlin."
"I can't," Robert insisted. "I want some amazing ability, you know?" He stepped toward the table, studying it intently. *What is something that's* never *eaten?* His face lit up as an idea struck.
He walked up and settled down in an untouched chair. He searched for a knife, and, once he found one, began sawing at the table. Made of a simple wood, perhaps oak, although Robert was no expert, the table stood strong and proud. It took several minutes to saw at, but once it was done, Robert grinned proudly.
This would be his crowning achievement. This surely was the most creative action he could have taken, and therefore would give him an insanely powerful ability. He shoved the small piece of wood in his mouth, chewed despite the painful splinters, and forced himself to swallow.
The effect was immediate. The room brightened, and a man, a tall person with a smirking face, stood in the furthest corner.
The table disappeared along with the food.
"You know," the man said, "I've never seen anyone do that before.
Robert's smile widened.
"I thank you for releasing me."
Robert paused, his smug grin disappearing. "What do you mean?"
"You see, the wood does provide abilities, but it also forced you to stay here and provide food to annoying little teens such as yourself. It took five *hundred* years for someone to do as you just did. The previous person to was me." He bowed, then disappeared with a free laugh.
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to start exploring his new powers, and prison, before the first batch of his peers appeared. | "This is the opposite of Santa Claus," I said to myself, as I shambled alone through an endless white expanse.Some things you believe as a child, then one day you realize it was all a game for children. With the *transition,* well, I have to admit I never believed it. Yet there I was and it seemed as real as anything.*Maybe I'm in the North Pole*, I thought as I continued to walk into nothing, contemplating what exactly qualifies as a reindeer game.
In the distance I saw something dark fade into view, it quickly grew til I realized it was flying towards me at a high speed.I braced myself, but it just flew past me in every direction; the white faded into a dark field of stars, as if I was flying through the night sky or outer space. All was silent but I could feel a wind from the field of stars as it wooshed by.
And suddenly I could see a.... table? flying towards me. I got low and got ready to catch it with my head down in a grimace. I was ready to possibly get wiped out by the fastest table I'd ever seen.
It stopped on a dime, 1 foot in front of me but I still came off my feet stumbling backwards like an idiot. And there it was, an empty wooden table. Four legs, brown finish, just like the stories. There was nothing on it, though.
At that thought, a tablecloth popped out of nothing and immediately after that all types of food imaginable as the table expanded far to either side.
"Woah," I whispered, coming to my feet.
All was silent for a moment as I walked by the tableside, looking at each platter before me. All manner of sandwiches, pasta dishes, seafood and meats with every type of garnish I had ever seen; Lasagna, Cake, Chicken Tikka Masala, Empanadas, Croissant Sandwiches, Chinese Takeout were all present. The first step towards making a decision would simply be to overcome all the sights and smells I was being overwhelmed by.
"Take a bite," commanded a deep voice, echoing from all around me, "It is time."
I had thought long and hard about what I would do. I had seen how those who said they had eaten different foods had turned out. The psychics and telekenetics had all ingested different fruits. Those with super strength had eaten corn on the cob or corn bread, which I just so happened to be looking at as I thought about them. A bite of a bean and cheese burrito would give you the power of super speed... I don't know why.
I had studied all my life for this moment, though I doubted it would ever come to be quite in this way. I wasn't going to waste this opportunity. I would make a move no one could have predicted... not even this booming voice, were it an all powerful deity or something.
I got on one knee right by the table, lifted the tablecloth and took a bite of the wood. I felt the grain of the table splintering and cracking between my teeth. I had prepared for this by drinking whole milk everyday for the past 10 years. I pulled a piece of the twisted and wet wood fibers with my mouth like a god-forsaken dog.
Finally, I was able to get a piece of the table in my mouth.
There was a pure silence now; an eery stillness. Then an explosion of red light from every pore of my body. I was infused with the red light, I became a part of the light as it became so bright and all encompassing that there was no boundary between me and it. I was almost driven mad by the humming of the light that got louder and louder until there was nothing but the light and the humming and they were both one and the same and I was one with them.
The redness dimmed and settled onto my skin, like soft cloth. I was somewhere else now, too. It was... well, it seemed to be a wooden cabin. I was fatter too, as if what I had eaten had an effect on my body.
*Ugh, what have I become?* I asked myself, feeling fat and disheveled. I buried my face in my hands to find I was wearing black mittens.
I looked to my right, at the mirror... to see I was none other than Santa Claus himself. I ho ho hoe'd at the ceiling but there was no response save for the blizzard outside my window in the north pole. My very hubris had sealed my fate to hand out presents every year for eternity.
This story is canon. | 2020-03-19T10:34:21 | 2020-03-19T09:29:08 | 39 | 29 |
[WP] “Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.” That was the last thing he said before he shut the basement door. | “Don’t go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound,” her father said as he hefted the bloody axe into his hand. He started up the stairs out of the cellar and stopped. "You can always tell when they're not human, listen. Listen!"
“Papa, no—no they *are!* They are people!” she cried pulling on his stained dark t-shirt. The fabric stretched against his body like diseased skin falling off the bone. “Don’t go back out there, please. It’s not true what you say. They’re real. They’re real people, please, papa. Just like mama and James were. Please, stay here.”
He turned on her. “Yes ... " he said, taking the axe in both hands. His eyes blazed with disgust. "Yes, that's *exactly* how they sound.” | I’m slowly bleeding out. He is gone for at least 20 minutes. The last thing he said was, ‘Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.’
We didn’t know what we were doing. I remember taking my backpack and going a hike with Terry. I’ve never expected to see something falling down from the sky. When I did, I was curious, Terry was too. What we did was stupid.
I can hear something banging on the door. Is it Terry or someone... something else? I slowly get up and try to maintain my balance as I step forward. I feel the taste of metal in my mouth and my eyes start to burn and I smell something terrible that I can not even begin to describe. There is no way that is Terry behind that door. Still, I get closer step by step and I hear something making a noise.
''Terry is that you?'' I whisper.
There is no response. I take the axe standing near the door but as soon as I hold it, I understand that I won’t be able to defend myself, I can barely walk. So, I slowly put back the axe.
I hear something talking behind the door. ''I fell... I fell... I fell''
I knock the door twice to see what response I can get. All the noise stops. I hold my breath and I slowly walk back. The door nob starts to shake. The light goes out. It’s pitch dark now. I can’t even see my own hands. I’m not sure if I’m alone in this basement anymore.
I hear the same voice, ''You...Can...Help...Me.''
It definitely doesn’t sound like Terry but if I wait any longer I’ll die from bleeding anyway. I try to reach with my left arm, try to touch something. My legs feel heavy and I drop on my knees.
This time I hear a softer, calmer voice, ''Entrance is... Open. Let go of yourself!''
------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
*I welcome any feedback!*
**Stay Safe!**
---------------------------- | 2020-04-26T08:20:00 | 2020-04-26T05:52:23 | 154 | 44 |
[WP] “Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.” That was the last thing he said before he shut the basement door. | The kid's face gave it all away. All I had to do was wait.
He gulped, his Adams apple making a long and surprisingly complicated transit up and down his scrawny neck, practically popping his shirt collar on the way. When he spoke, his voice didn't quiver, but it was clear this took some effort.
"And that's when they took him? Is that why you hate them?"
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him. Hah, he was probably hoping for Fox Mulder. Or even Scully. Well, too bad, kid, you got *me*. I watched his Adams apple do its rounds up and down again before continuing.
"No. That was when my father, who'd been feeding me bullshit for months, murdered my little sister and my mother. Shot them both right between the eyes. My older brother managed to kick him down the stairs and he broke his neck. He thought I was dead, too. The cops found me down there two hours later, where I told them all about my dad going off to fight the aliens. And they were so *kind* about it. It was *years* before the reality about what my dad had done sunk in."
The kid's expression had gone from one of hopeful eagerness to mounting horror. He'd stepped in it, and now he knew it. He wasn't sure what "it" was yet, but he knew it wasn't good for his future prospects.
Up and down.
Now that I'd scared him, time to make my point. I let my face relax a bit.
"Now, that's a terrible story, but I told you that so I can tell you this: my dad didn't do this in a vacuum. He had idiots on the radio talking about aliens. He had magazines and newspapers full of idiots talking about aliens." I sighed. I had told this story to make this point before - many times, in fact - but it still stung. "He had medication, too, I found out later, and he wasn't taking it. That's on him. But if he hadn't had half a planet full of people whispering in his ear about aliens being everywhere, maybe I'd still have a family."
Up and down. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.
"This kind of nonsense hurts people. *Really* hurts people, kid, people like *me*. I don't like to see it spread, I don't like to have it wasting people's time. It's *dangerous*. And, as it happens, the agency feels the same way."
His eyes were increasingly receding islands of blue in a sea of white. I allowed myself a smile. It didn't seem to reassure him.
"Now, *Mister* Reynolds," I emphasized, to let him know the friendly, informal part of our interview was over. "Now that you are aware of my - and the agency's - position on the subject, is there anything you feel you'd like to add to your story, before I come with you to *see* this alien you have trapped in your shed?"
And I kept smiling. It worked every time; it was why they'd call me in on these cases. Guys hoping to pull one over on us and make a buck off the press would give up after hearing my story, before they actually commit fraud. The guys who were set on committing fraud got charged with wasting police time. And if they actually *believed* their story, well, I knew about mental illness, too. I was probably their best hope at finding help.
So I waited to see which one this kid was.
Up and down.
But damned if he didn't stick to his story. And so, at 11:30 on a Sunday night, I was dragged out into the boonies to see an alien some dumb kid had trapped in his tool shed.
And wouldn't you know it... he was telling the truth. | Human, am I not human? Do I not matter? Why was I left out of the door? He said it to those creatures as he shut the door. What is human? What is the purpose of human? He expired from his injuries before I could ask him. I tried to contact the creatures he stowed away inside but they wouldn’t respond. That was several days ago, now the door is broken and there is no one inside.
Human, I know this term. I’ve gone to the large complex I was born from to search for answers. Hoards of those creatures used to gather to collect items and store rectangular leaves. Is that what being a human is? Knowing where to get those leaves and where to store them? Where do those leaves grow, I wonder.
This smaller room has more leaves. These leaves aren’t like the rectangular ones in every other room. These leaves are brown and mushy. They’re placed on a strange circle. Both the circle and the leaves are contained between two soft stones. Little creatures are orbiting it. I’m having a strange feeling, like a waking dream. I have the hands of those creatures, the ones that locked the door. I’m consuming this item. Is that what it is for? I take a bite, but the stones are flavorless and the leaves are distasteful.
Human has to mean something else. I step into the large hall. It’s dark and quiet. The only light is emanating from the solid holes in the roof. How did those creatures make holes for lights that don’t let in the rain? Another waking dream hits me, hundreds of those creatures could fit in this room, and they had mini suns in the roof. It wasn’t dark, the place was vibrant and noisy. There’s something in my hand, it’s hand of another one of the creatures, a female. This feeling... The waking dream passed as fast as it comes. What was that feeling, why do I feel a connection to this creatures.
I look to one of my own. He’s stalking on all fours, sniffing, hunting. His stretched upper body pefectly balanced on his elongated fingers. These fingers came down to a point just like our teeth. Our skin was like the darkness, our eyes like a flys. (A fly, where did that name come from?) His feet crouched beneath him, his two claws scratched the decorative floor square. His legs seemed bound in the removable blue fur I saw the creature that closed the door used. His upper body, however, was naked. “Excuse me but can I ask you a question?” I ask.
As I do I wonder, where did I learn this dialect? It’s the same the creatures at the door used. Can everyone use this dialect? The other of my kind looks to me and hisses. “It won’t take long,” I reply. “Help me,” he hissed. “Oh, my apologies, what’s wrong? Are the bindings too small? Is that why you crawl on all your limbs instead of move upright?” “Heeellp meee.” “Of course but how do I do so?” “Please, help me.” “Do you understand me?” The other of my kind leaned closer a sniffed me. He growled and turned to leave. Before he got far he coughed something up.
It caught my attention. I’d seen it before, in my last waking nightmare. It was on the female. I reached down to make sure. It opened and inside was a picture of her and of another, a male. I felt, confused. Something was wrong, the dreams, this locket, this face. These words, I know then without knowing. Why am I upset? What did the other of my kind do to this woman. She’s important to me doesn’t he know that?
I charge at him, grabbing his neck and flipped him to his back. “What did you do!” I scream. “Help me.” “What is this? Where did you get it!” I slam his head into the floor. “Heeelp mee.” A nightmare flutters into my head again. I’m in the great hall, with the woman. Same dream as before but she looks up and screams. There’s my kind, except I’m not like them, I’m like her. The monster I hold in the waking world jumps at her from the second story. I push her away as it’s massive teeth crush my bones. She screams, and hits the monster with a handbag. I try to tell her to run but my mouth is filled with blood. The the monster turns to her and slowly and says “heelp me.” She turns to run and it leaps on her... oh the screaming, the screaming!
I came to from the nightmare, my hands covered in the blood from the one I held. My fingers still in his skull. My claws tore through his head like he tore through... Liquid streams from my eyes, I’m shaking but I’m not sure why. There’s a pain in my chest unlike anything I could ever imagine. The feelings the nightmares give are unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my two weeks of living, and I think I finally understand what it means to be human. | 2020-04-26T09:00:06 | 2020-04-26T08:48:56 | 40 | 24 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class." | In my defense, I didn’t mean to lie. At least, not at first.
There’s just only so many answers you can give to one of the most powerful A-list mutants in the world after she saves your entire class from death via careening down a mountain in the middle of a freak hurricane.
And those answers all invariably include shutting your mouth and nodding when The-Motherfucking-Storm says she saw you teleport yourself and a couple classmates to safety.
It's better than admitting you got tired of carrying them after the first three.
So, it was off to Xavier’s I went, with the blessing of my family. I think they were just relieved to realize our house wasn’t actually haunted, and that all the moved furniture and missing snacks were due to their broody, rather-not-interact-with-anyone-if-I-could-help-it teenager. It was just going to be for a year or so, would include all the state mandated tests and some top class education, and was, if anything, more of a…counseling situation. A way for young mutants to socialize with their peers.
They conveniently left out the part where this socialization happened over literal battle training and in a place conveniently named, ‘The Danger Room’.
Yea. Shit. Add to that it was the best and literal brightest mutants helping in this training, and I ended up trying to make a runner in the first night. And then got caught by the literal Nightcrawler. Who seemed to think I was just taking an evening walk and offered to join me in something called *teleporter solidarity.*
I politely declined.
Pretty sure Professor Xavier told him to keep an eye out for me, because he was there a lot more often with very unsolicited advice like what hair gel to use to keep your hair from poofing up after a - what he called - ‘bamf’. Even gave me my own bottle, which was nice. I guess. But not enough to get me to risk life and limb on a regular basis.
I had dedicated myself to coasting, and that was that. Caring was something they really couldn’t get me to do, not when everyone else in my life had failed, not when I knew that I was the only one in the world for whom every second was actually real.
I aged while everyone was in stasis. I grew. They didn’t. Ergo, my time was more important.
So, I lied. I told them that my ‘teleporting’ powers had a max use of once a day and was, therefore, way too useless to be practical. In reality all the finger snapping needed to activate the time stops were just giving me carpal tunnel. The Wolverine guy was the only one who didn’t seem to quite believe it, staring at me oddly after I’d told the class. He never said anything though, leaving me to assume that even if he could smell lies he didn't much care for exposing them.
Probably was for the best when you taught a bunch of literal super-powered pubescent kids, most with delusions of grandeur. Not me, though. This whole mutant life was just not my style. Life or death situations on the daily, constant stress, having to socialize with new people and, more than likely, *save* them…yea. No. I’d take the worst class designation any day.
They did their best to make the life look as exciting as possible, I’ll give them that, but even weekly Q&As after Danger Room sessions with elite mutants weren’t enough to ruffle me. Most of those talks had to be rescheduled due to the latest world-destruction event, others due to the fact they didn’t even know which dimension so-and-so mutant was in this time. Real appealing.
And then. There was the last one. The one Professor Xavier was meant to drop into. The one that freaking Sentinels decided to crash. The one I was skipping and didn’t know about until a giant robot hand was two seconds away from crushing me.
In the end, my entire desire for a simple life was pit against the option of a quick, brutal death and a release from all responsibilities. So, I didn’t move. I think part of me just wanted it over with.
That’s when Nightcrawler ‘*bamf*’-ed atop the robot and sent it flying sideways. That’s when Wolverine grabbed me and started to run. That’s when I saw the other Sentinel aim. That’s when my entire desire for a simple life was pit against the option of the quick and brutal deaths of some of the nicest people I’d ever met in my life.
So, I froze time. I ended up having to nearly break Wolverine’s arm to get loose, but figured he’d heal up fine. I macguyvered a laser canon from some scraps - those Danger Room tutorial sessions really were useful - and blew the first Sentinel’s head off. Then the second. I ended up clearing off the campus at some point, just to make sure.
Then I took a deep breath and sat down on the front steps of the institute, right beside where Professor Xavier was currently wheeled up. His hand was already at his temple, concentrating at was probably once a sea of Sentinels, but was now just a bunch of scrap metal. I sighed deeply and gave a mental farewell to my days as the laziest Class Omega bitch that ever existed.
And snapped my fingers to let the world start spinning. | 2022-11-09T16:36:25 | 2020-07-15T07:26:54 | 9,106 | 1,209 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | Its hard to keep secrets, especially when part of your existence is nothing but lying. Telling a lie is easy, but maintaining that lie is one of the most difficult things you can ever put yourself through.
In the beginning it was small things, like not accidentally knocking stuff over or feigning ignorance about knowledge I shouldn't know, but do. It's suspicious to know nothing about a book series one day, and then act like an expert on it the next.
I had to be careful, I couldn't run because that would cause air movement, and rapid air movement plus sudden disappearance and reappearance could make people think I was a speedster. But I'm not
I have to make sure I don't prevent things that can't be stopped without spit second action. I could have grabbed the toxic chemical vials mid air and set them back on the table like nothing happened, but instead, I had to make it look like I had just grabbed them from their free fall.
It's all very exhausting, I'm tired of always being vigilant to not contradict my lies, I'm tired of always having to lie to people, but on the bright side: I can get a full eight hours in five minutes.
I've never been a fan of people, but when you have all the time in the world, sometimes you just want to share it with someone
Someday, someday I might come clean. Someday I'll answer for every lie I've ever told. Someday I might actually learn how to do more than just *Freeze* time.
Today's not that day. Today I have a test I never studied for, So guess what I'm doing. | When, for all practical purposes, you're a god, life gets interesting. Especially at 14. No one can know, or you will be blamed for everything. If I have all this power, why don't I save everyone? Why is there strife?
I don't know Karen, why'd you scream at that McDonalds worker for giving you five cents wrong in change? It's not *my* fault there's strife, I shouldn't have to fix everything.
Anyway, no one knew, in the life I started across the country from my home. But like I said, I'm fourteen. Not exactly the cautious type, and someone saw me "teleport". Well, that's better than everyone knowing I can freeze all of time while I continue to move, so now here I am. In a class full of mutants, with a head professor who can read minds, lying about my powers.
I've made some friends here. I still don't trust them with the truth, but it's fun to mess about together. We get in trouble a lot, but I also help us avoid trouble sometimes.
Then one day, some asshole decided to fight me. Like, why me? Sure I called your mom a whore, but that's no reason to try to *kill* me, mister knife manipulator.
Anyway, one thing lead to another and now I'm in Xavier's office. I *could* just pause time and leave, but what's the point? I'd let it resume eventually.
Xavier spoke, "Trystan, you're not a teleporter."
"No, sir."
He nods, but smiles at me. "I hoped you would tell me on your own, but your *incident* with Jehovah fast tracked this conversation. I've known since you arrived."
I couldn't speak. If he'd known, why hadn't he said so? Maybe he misunderstands, he thinks I'm just able to pause time temporarily. Yes, maybe I'll get him to stick to that assumption.
"Trystan, I don't need to read your mind to know that whatever you're about to say is a lie. Please, truthfully tell me what you can do."
Crap. Well, might as well. Nothing better to do.
...
Turns out, there was plenty better to do. I'd heard about Xavier's track record with the greater good, I should've just lied. As much as he might have learned his lessons, my power was far too tempting.
...
I was wrong about being a god. Even most of them were bound by time, and the few that weren't were well beneath my power. Eternity sucks, alone.
...
A single mind reached into mine from across infinity, leaving a single phrase in its wake. *The Elder Gods understand. Come to us.*
Edit: Read up on Galactus and realized he didn't fit that last message, changed it. | 2020-07-15T07:17:13 | 2020-07-15T07:04:42 | 53 | 33 |
[WP] You're a weak telepath. Your limited powers allow you to catch glimpses into people's memories. Usually you see major events like weddings and graduations. You just saw into the memory of the man next to you. You saw his coronation as king of a nation you've never heard of. | Time passes in strange ways on the train. Looking out the window, the world seems stopped, like a snowglobe, but a dozen lifetimes can go by in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it curls around itself, like an ourobouros. No one on the train can tell you how long they've been there, but we all know we're going to the same place.
Sometimes we tell stories. I met a woman, several stops ago, who had been a journalist for the New York Times, killed by a bomb in some war. I didn't bother asking which war. I probably didn't know it. She talked to me for what seemed like minutes, or weeks, about the summers she spent in Montreal as a child. Those are the sorts of things we think about, on the train.
But mostly we sit in silence, occasionally passing from car to car. You would think that it would get lonely, but loneliness is a function of time, and time passes strangely.
I try not to listen to anyone's thoughts, and I mostly succeed. The minds of the other passengers are dreamlike, and as quiet as they.
The train comes to a halt, and the doors open. None of the passengers stir. A man steps on board. He is tall and black and effortlessly handsome, in a tailored suit that looks like it was made just for him. An image flashes in my mind's eye. It's strange and wonderful. _This man is a king._
He looks around warily as the train takes off again. Most do. There are no introductions. No one wants to break the silence.
Time passes. Perhaps it doesn't. I can't resist. "Where is _Wakanda_?" I ask. The other passengers stare at me.
He blinks. "I don't know," he finally admits. His voice is deep and clear. "Isn't that where we're going?"
I shrug. "Nobody knows until we get there." Another image flashes through my head. "You should find a place to sit, Mr. Boseman. It's going to be a long ride."
The king sits on his throne, and waits. | “All hail the Mighty King Frank, Ruler of the land of Argunist.”
The roaring cheers deafened me for a moment, my head swaying quickly from side to side. Memories often would frighten you if you weren’t paying attention. It was like a jump scare for the mind. Even with my limited abilities, the memory I saw was clear. The old man, standing tall among a sea of followers, a beautiful white gown flowing off his muscular frame. People swarming to touch him, reaching towards their king in awe, unable to grasp him but being so close that it hardly mattered. They were in love with the man, enthralled by him.
I turned to stare at the man, something I would try to avoid after seeing memories, but he was far too fascinating to ignore. The man looked nothing like his counterpart, his body falling apart, head drooped forward as if the weight of his own skull was crushing his neck. His clothes less beautiful white gown and more disheveled sweater. Still, he was no doubt the man in the memory. Even if his body seemed to hang, comfortable gut extending the sweater further than intended. He was still very much the man.
I wanted to question him, ask him about this unknown world. What was Argunist? Was he truly a king? I smacked my lips together, trying to stop them from drying; I had to ask him. Sure, it may have been an invasion of privacy, but I had to know his story. Eventually I pulled my lips apart, but no words followed, instead I was left slack jawed, a peasant in the presence of a king. I couldn’t dare ask him.
I tried to look forward, observe the loud calls of the birds, lose my mind in the scenery, but my mind kept returning to the man and soon my gaze followed. Was he immortal? A missing piece in our history? Was he the ancestor of some prominent leader? No, that couldn’t be it. The memories I saw were always about that person, never did I see anything that suggested otherwise.
My foot tapped against the ground below. Again my eyes were on the man. The man hadn’t even bothered to look at me; I was certain he could tell I was staring, but instead of questioning me, he just held a small somber smile, lost in his own memories. Not even acknowledging that I was beside him. This was too much, I had to know. Again I went to open my lips, only stopped by the footsteps of another. A woman in white approached, her expression tired. Her sterile white clothes covered in the occasional splotch of food or grime.
“Did you enjoy your time at the park Frank? We should get you home, sir”
Her voice was as tender as a mother’s, slowly hooking her hand around his, raising the man carefully off the bench. He didn’t seem disturbed by the movement, not responding to the surrounding stimulus. I watched the two slowly walk away from the bench, my eyes not able to leave them until they were out of sight.
I had found my answer, found out the answer to my many questions. The answer was both sad and sweet. At the very least, I was glad a decaying mind could find comfort in imagination.
So long King Frank, I’m glad I met you.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2020-09-01T23:37:09 | 2020-09-01T22:13:43 | 403 | 68 |
[WP] 22 years ago, your son cried to you about a monster under his bed. He spoke a lot after that about a new imaginary friend. Today, your son’s wedding day, you learn that the monster and imaginary friend were both the same and incredibly real. Your son’s best man. | When my son Timothy was young he had the same dream every night. He’d come running into my room crying, calling for his mom (never for me) and I’d sweep him up in my arms and hold him until the tears stopped. He’d never see mine, those I saved up carefully until he was asleep, peacefully snuggled under the covers in his mom’s old spot. A part of the bed I never dared go myself.
He didn't talk to me about the dreams coherently, no matter how hard I tried. I got the normal stuff, there’s a monster in the dark that comes out when he falls asleep, and I thought I did ok. We got a nightlight, I watched over him while he fell asleep, or showed him that all the little places in his room that a monster could hide in were empty. Sometimes I slept in a chair next to his bed to be there when he inevitably woke up. We struggled through it night after night, just the two of us. My wife would have known what to do, but me? It was enough just trying to keep us both together, until a friend recommended a child psychologist.
After the first appointment my only wish was that I’d done it sooner. The woman had a way with Tim that I’d never managed. Seeing my son opening up to her over the ensuing weeks was pure joy, she got so much more out of him than I ever did. The monster was always a tall dark form in the shape of a man. Thin, bordering on gaunt from the description. Sometimes it growled or hissed, sometimes it was silent, but the eyes always seemed to glow. Every night without fail it would creep through the door-and he always insisted on through, it was never opened. The monster would creep through and stand beside his bed staring down into his open eyes and slowly, carefully, take the picture off his bedside table. The picture of his mother that we said goodnight to every night after our prayers. Then it would leave the room with it. As far as Tim was concerned that picture was his most prized possession in the whole world, and when it faded through the door with the monster he would wake up screaming and racing to my side.
It made so much more sense after that. The psychologist and I agreed that it was a sign of his struggle to deal with my wife’s death, with his pain and fear of having the things he loved more than anything taken away from him by a force he couldn't understand. Finally having a name and a cause for the problem we attacked it, and it worked! One night when he was 5 Tim wrapped his little hands around one of mine and said “Daddy, I’m not scared anymore.” I told him I loved him and that I was glad, while inside I desperately hoped it was true. That night I slept in the chair again just in case, and he didn’t wake up once. The next morning he introduced me to his new imaginary friend, Jeffrey. He never had that nightmare again, when I asked he said simply, “Jeffrey’s watching over me now.”
It’s funny the things that can race through your head when you watch your son “I do.” It was like his whole life flashed before my eyes, and I’d never been more proud to be his father. After all, his young wife was beautiful and kind, and I loved her like a daughter already. Somehow though, looking at that scene before me I kept hearing those words from so many years ago, “Daddy, I’m not scared anymore.” That same little voice I remembered so well. Maybe it made sense, it was the closing of one chapter of his life coming back at the opening of another. He didn’t have anything to be scared of now, not with her watching over him, and me.
The reception was a blur of relatives and acquaintances, old friends and neighbors. Tim’s middle school basketball coach even showed up to congratulate his old point guard. It felt like both an eternity and the blink of an eye before I found myself seated at the reception, taking in the bride and groom, as the best man rose to give his speech. It was a young man that I hadn’t met before, someone my son had met at college. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together energetically before speaking, taking in the whole room in what looked like a practiced gaze.
“So, as some of you may know, I met Tim when we were both freshmen at Penn State. What you might not know is that I was actually there when Tim first saw Emily. You’ve got to understand, he might seem like a suave, successful guy right now when he’s in a tux and he already got the girl, but when she walked up to our table in the dining hall and asked if that seat was taken I thought he was going to blush so hard his head would explode! You remember man, you had it bad right from the start!” The crowd laughed at that, his delivery was on point. After a few moments he continued. “Anyway, so Tim ends up spending like an hour in the dining hall, he’s late to his next class, it’s this whole thing. And then that night he just won’t stop talking about her, we’re both in bed and I’ve got this 8 AM class I’ve got to get up for, and this guy wakes me up, he says ‘Jeffrey, I think I’m in love with this girl.’ And of course I’ve got to make fun of him for that because its been what, half a day? But here we are 5 years later….”
The best man continues but my mind doesn’t follow. His name is Jeffrey? I’m sure it’s nothing of course, but what a strange coincidence after being so stuck on that memory. I considered the man as he kept talking. He was unusually tall, maybe 6’6 and rail thin, a strange build all things considered. He had shoulder length brown hair, and while he didn’t necessarily seem attractive he had a sort of magnetism about him, a force of personality that was immediately apparent. As I looked at him he turned, and it felt like he looked straight into my eyes. I could hear in the tenor of his voice that he was coming to the end of his speech.
“Anyway Tim, I really couldn’t be happier for you. I’ve always looked out for you and wanted the best for you and I’m glad you’ve found it. You’ve got nothing to be scared of with this one, she’s a keeper. And Emily, you’ve got a great guy here. I know Tim loves you more than anything in this world.” As Jeffrey sat down the crowd politely clapped and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. He looked back up from the table as the world fell away from us and this time I knew for sure that we had caught each other’s eyes, and those eyes...they *glowed.* | "Oh honey!" I say to my boy, "I'm so happy for you! I wish your father was here to see you being wed to your beautiful fiancé..."
"Yes, me too." He replies, a soft smile on his lips. "I'll let you go take a seat, mom, Mr. Shnoubs is going to be ready soon and then we'll start." Before I could respond, I was shooed out of the room.
Mr. Who-now? I knew of Daniel, Frederic's soon-to-be husband, Gabriel, my son's best man and Charles and Thomas, Daniel's best mans. Hazily, I remember wondering why there was an extra seat to the head table of the dinning room.
It musn't matter too much, though. I'll get to meet him in a couple of minutes, anyway.
I make my way back to the ceremony room, being mindful of the ones already seated to get a front seat to the left of the aisle. Any second now, my boy will stand at the alter and his beloved will walk down to him. I remember when it was I who joined my husband in the same matter. Life was different, then. My little Frederick was so small and cute, walking a bit before me, bearing the rings. My eyes start to sting a bit, but I've vowed to myself I would not cry until after the kiss, so I breifly shake my head to pass the feeling.
While my eyes are closed, people and silence have seatled around the room. My beautiful son walks to the atler, clad in a pure white three-piece, his father would have definitly been proud. He is followed by, yes, Gabriel. Oh! He's trimmed his beard for the occasion, funny him! I remember him coming over to our house to ask for advice for his facial hair, years ago, when it was all patchy. The boy grew up side by side with my dear Frederick from secondairy one. Before they met and started playing tricks on the other kids of the neigborhood, though, Frederick said he had a... friend. He had a name, but it's been so long and I was worried for my poor boy, having an imaginary friend in the sixth grade... Now, I'm glad he's found people he can trust and talk to.
Both of them were reaching to step leading to the stage when an extremly tall figure follows in. He is dressed head to toe in black, wearing a top hat with the suit. Who is he? Mr. I-Don't-Remember-His-Name? He has long, thin fingures and he walks without a sound, taking big strides to cover the distance of the door to the stage in only a couple of steps. Both the silent steps and his way of moving makes it seem as if he is flowing, floating to the front of the room.
When the three men turn in their places, facing the crowd, I take the time to peer into the myserious man's face. Something's not right... I try to pinpoint the details of his nose, eyes, mouth, but everything keeps going out of focus. It is as if everything keeps moving around, not any one trait totally present.
Worried, I glance around to the ones sitting beside me, looking to see if they also saw something amiss in the man in black. But, nobody even spares him a glance. I'm really starting to panic, now. That's when my son catches my gaze. He sees me with my wide eyes and my mouth slightly agape, frowns a tiny bit, before something lights up in his expression as I glance at the unidentified man. He looks at him for a second, understanding dawning on his face when he looks back to me. Again, a soft smile blooms on his face, goose feet appearing to the side if his eyes. He mouths the words "It's alright, I'll tell you later."
And unconciously, I start to relax. The mister seems to be totally focused on the closed door, Frederick, in his turn, looks at him. I see no alertness there, only greatfulness and love. I'm still a bit hesitant about this wierd character, but anything my dear wants to share with me will be listened to before being judged.
The wedding goes magnificently from there. Daniel was splendid in his matching suit to Frederick, the vows took my breath away, and I did cry a tiny bit before the kiss, mind you, all was too beautiful not too.
Everyone then stands up and applauds the newlyweds, following them out to get on with the feast. I let everyone pass before making my way there myself, feeling no need to rush, my boy will already have his hand full with everyone buzzing around him and Daniel.
That's when I feel a light tap on my shoulder, effectivly startling me from my reverie. It's the mister, shocking me even more.
"Good evening, Missus Trembley, and pardon me." He says in a deep and smooth voice. I get the feeling he's trying to stay very non-threatening, like he was talking to a scared animal. Granted, I am very startled from his sudden appearence, I had not felt him coming up to me at all. "I wanted to properly introduce myself, as I know you, but you do not I."
What a curious thing to say... I take the time to lower the hand that clutched at my heart when he approched me, gazing again into his shifting face before speaking up, "Hello. Indeed, I do not know who you are, my dear. But you seem to be important to my son. You've even stood next to him here. Excuse me for jumping, I did not know you would be there." A smile spreads accros my face as I speak, seeing just how the man is calming despite my first impression.
"No, please, it is I that is to be excused. I startled you, which was not my intention, nor should have happened." He paused, looking around us. I do the same and realise that we are the only ones left in the bright room. He looks back at me, adding; "My name is Mr. Shnoubs and I am Frederick's friend under the bed."
That statement threw me for a loop. Mr. Shnoubs, again. Just the sentence was bizzare on it's own, until a memory resurfaces.
A little over 20 years ago, when Frederick was just a boy, he came crying to me about a monster under his bed. Like any parent, I went to look if anything was there, reassured my son and told him that nothing was there. He calmed down and went back to sleep, but that was the start of a couple of weeks of midnight screams in the house. I took care of it, as his father got up early to work in a plant every week-day, but as fast as the episodes started, did they stop. The monster that he called Mr. Shnoubs then became 'my friend under the bed'. Frederick told me stories of how he fought off the 'slendy' for the closet one night, or the giant spider that crawled in from his window. I always thought that it was the child's overactive imagination at play, but it turns out I was wrong.
I blink a couple of times as the information processes in my mind. "You... are Mr. Shnoubs?"
"Yes Madame. It is a pleasure to finaly meet you." He holds out his hand to me.
"The pleasure is all mine." I say, shaking his hand. "Now, tell me, how did you come to know eachother so well?"
From there, we walked out to the celebration happening behind the door, talking of Frederick, Gabriel, Daniel and how they all came to be here today.
_______________________________________________________
This is my first time writing for a prompt! Please tell me what you think and what I should improve. Constructive critisism is always appreciated! | 2020-11-27T19:23:23 | 2020-11-27T15:16:08 | 48 | 33 |
[WP] A teenage boy spends a season helping out his grandmother in her orange fields. One tree in the field never bears fruit, yet his grandmother tends to it everyday with deep reverence. One day he asks her why, the answer changes his life forever. | The old woman smiled, the weatherworn creases in her face suddenly reorganizing themselves into irrigation ditches for tears and laughter. “Why?” she echoed, patting the tree trunk, her gnarled hands just as rough and warm as the bark. “This old tree’s got many reasons, Jev. Here’s one—did you know your ancestors are buried here?”
Jev’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quietly. “I didn’t, Gran. Sorry.”
“That’s alright. I never met them.” Smiling kindly, Gran beckoned him closer. “Did you know that, when it flowers, the blossoms are the most beautiful in the entire field?”
“No,” he admitted. Come to think of it, he had no memory of this tree ever flowering at all, in any season. “I’ve never seen them.”
“That’s alright,” she shrugged. “I haven’t seen them either. But it gives the coolest and sweetest shade at midday.”
Jev frowned. “But Gran, you’re never by this tree at midday. Midday is lunch. How do you know it gives the best shade?”
“I don’t. But when it bears fruit, those oranges will be the juiciest you’ve ever had.”
"...Nobody's really buried here, are they?"
Her eyes twinkled. "Not that I know the names or birthdays of."
“Gran,” said Jev, arms akimbo, “stop fooling around. You don’t have any reasons to take care of this tree. It doesn’t flower, it doesn’t bear fruit, it’s useless for shade. You can’t tap it, the wood’s no good for anything. Why do you do it?”
Still smiling, she closed her eyes and breathed for a long moment—and at length, just when Jev was beginning to feel impatient enough to ask again, she shook her head. “Do I need a reason?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Just because the tree isn’t useful to me doesn’t mean it’s not there for a reason, my child; just because I don’t see a reason doesn’t mean there isn’t one. And even if there isn’t, does that matter? It’s here, and I can appreciate it being here anyway.”
“But Gran, you could have a tree here that grows oranges, like the rest of them.”
“And to do that, we’d have to cut this one down.” Her smile softened, like a blanket that’s been so well-worn it’s turned to gauze. “Whatever this tree gives, we’d lose, and by the time a new one grew, I’d be long gone, and only you would get to enjoy it.”
And here she rested both hands on his shoulders. “If you decide to cut down a tree, Jev, best make damn sure you know what for, and what you’re giving up. Trees don’t need reasons to be here. They offer things we don’t even ask for, things we don’t know *how* to ask for. Or they don’t, and that’s okay too, but since I can’t ask, why assume the worst? Besides, I’m taking care of the other trees already; might as well make sure this one’s strong and lively, too, right?”
For a moment, nothing seemed more interesting than his shoes. “Even though it doesn’t bear fruit?”
She ruffled his hair like the breeze. “*Because* it doesn’t bear fruit, dear.” | ***The Rind*** :
The depression was bad. The plague that followed, worse. But the dust storms that claimed lives and property along the way were nothing short of an unavoidable reckoning of destruction.
Gramma and Grampa Faulise survived it all together, and somehow still intact, managed to till and cultivate this waste into a homestead that raised the community around it. Families returned, economic production restarted, and life flourished again. “Solidarity, forever”, Gramps would sing as he toiled.
What was 6.5 Acres of barren topsoil and sand yesteryear was now a lush farm, water carted in by the truckload at no cheap expense in the beginning just to keep that soil down, and cattle able to graze and plot. Meager beginnings; wheat, corn and chickens, turned into pastures and fields in time, turned into fed families and fat cooing little healthy babies.
Faulise Fields was nothing short of a miracle. But every sun must set, and summer days get cut short by a storm or by autumn.
Grampa caught a sickness, cancer that would rob him of his ability to sing in the pasture or field. Crops went by unattended, plots sold off to pay for his care and medical debt, and Gramma did her best to raise her three children during the worst of it, just like the farm with her dear husband.
But James Faulise was no door mat, no he fought till his last breath well into his youngest daughter’s 20-years of age, till he just couldn’t fight no more. Property was sold. The town that grew and sired outside of Faulise Fields in those near 25-years time forgot their meager beginnings and who made it all happen for them, a sick man who in his time of need that toiled for them was then left to waste on a hospital bed to be forgotten as the fields that fed them years prior.
Pride for some is shame for others.
Gramma and her kids now at home, the two oldest standing there with their families, speechless and frozen in time and words. The well of emptiness in their hearts, for the immediate moment, uncompromising and painful. My mom, her older brother and sister, somehow got gramma to agree to sell off all but the house and 2 Acres of land; the cut off just past the end of the orange grove. Gramma was no better off after Grampa’s service, and his urn in her hands.
Fast forward to the summer of my 12-years of age when I was helping Gramma with the homestead, selling oranges and veggies and eggs at the farm stand. Gramma tells me the story, shows me Grampa’s old Army uniform and pictures from the Great War and focuses my attention to the urn on the mantle over the fireplace overlooking the house that I’ve seen time and time again but was too young to really know anything.
I go out the next morning to pick oranges with her, making it to the end of the orange grove, and the last tree has none but five leaves on it. But there’s Gramma, still watering it, giving it bonemeal and ash like the others, laying her right hand on it and giving thanks. It made no difference to me, an orange tree is an orange tree at 12-years old.
“Gramma, why keep that tree? Couldn’t it hurt the others?”, I sighed allowed, picking what felt to be the 5000th orange of the summer, seeing her finish her prayer at the foot of the dead tree.
Gramma looks to me and says, “you know, with the rest of you kids running round, I figured one of your parents would have had the sense to tell you that urn was empty.”
“What are you talking about, Gramma? You said that urn was Grampa’s last night.”
“His last wish was to be cast across the grove, overlooking the house and the town.”, Gramma smiled. “That man never stopped working for this family. Everything he was, was kindness, nothing of what he gave was spiteful, or for just himself and us.”
“Why is this last tree so sickly then, Gram?” I asked inquisitively.
“That was the last tree to be put in, and the only one that didn’t get touched by the ashes of James E. Faulise. That’s the Town’s final touch and contribution and thanks to an old man. It’s the last thing we wanted or needed from them.”
My grandmother smiled, pointing towards the grove “...here’s the fruit.”
She turns a half-step and gestures to the dead and dying tree, “...that’s the rind.” | 2021-05-26T15:08:46 | 2021-05-26T13:58:27 | 85 | 40 |
[WP]Humans were one of the best pilots in the history of intergalactic travel, that was a well know fact. And yet, the ITA warned against hiring human pilots. Not an outright ban, per se, just not recommended. | Humans can drive. You name it, they can handle it. Say which button does what and within an hour they’re up to fleet standards. Born pilots the whole lot. So why does the ITA warn against them? Because humans cannot seem to get it through their wrinkly little brains that traffic rules are there to be followed. NEVER hire a human pilot unless you want to be slapped with more speed and off-path violations than you can think of. They delight in what they call “mach Jesus” and “sending it.” Whatever that means to them - to me it means money out of my pocket. There’s only one time I’ll hire a human and that’s when I need something delivered PRONTO, violation fees be damned. I just hand them a stack of credits, show them the rig, and they fly off blasting music and hollering something about some Jerry Reed fella. I don’t question how they do it but when you’ve got a long way to go and a short time to get there - get yourself a human. | A1: What's the order and who's the client?
A2: We have a shipment of medical supplies and emergency provisions to a colony of lamia-da, and the client is... oh dear
A2: What? Who is it?
A1: The Cludon collective
A2: The war-mongers turned cultivation makers?
A1: The very same
A2: well, how much time did they give use to make the run? A month?
A1: 3 cycles...
A2: What! Are they insane? No one can make a delivery that fast.
A1: We have the supply already and they paid us in advance, we have to take this run.
A2: 3 cycles... 3 star forsaken cycles... Those Cludons will kill us if we don't make the delivery in time! What are we gonna do?
A1: Well... I know a guy who can make this run... but you're not gonna like it.
A2: It can't be any worse with our lives on the line.
A1: Remember my human friend from the Rolla celebration?
A2: No... No no no no no! We are not going to have a human run this delivery!
A1: We don't exactly have many options, and time is against us.
A2: ...
A1: ...
A2: f---fine... but you are making the call and whatever demands that human makes.
A1: Sure, no scales off my back.
(Pulls out communicator) He loves this this kind of work.
(Ring ring)
H: Hello?
A1: Hey, human Tyler. I got a delivery run that needs to go fast, you interested?
H: Say no more Dackle, we'll talk pay later.
A1: Great! How soon can you get here?
H: With traditional travel... at least a cycle. But~
A1: But?
H: But if you have a model 8 teleporter, I can be there in 10 minutes.
A1: Perfect! Just send me your specs and your retrieval code and we'll see you soon.
H: Consider that job done. (Hangs up)
A1: See Longo, nothing to worry about.
A2: Telling me not to worry about a human makes me worry, Dackle. | 2021-11-25T18:53:01 | 2021-11-25T17:01:53 | 108 | 77 |
[WP] In an effort to identify different species, you create a device that can scan an animal and tell you its DNA. You decide to test it on your cat. Delighted it even works, you look at the screen. "0% Cat" | All the best inventions came for the sake of convenience. Sure, there were other factors, such as curiosity and pushing the limits of human ingenuity, but the core factor was either making a process easier or obsoleting it by finding and easier way.
Well, my claim to fame (or what will be) will make the identification of a creature easier than ever before. We would be able to tell at a scan the closest relative of newly discovered species, and finally put an end to those expensive DNA test that always end up on the TV somehow.
Now to just test it...
"Mrow." At my side, my cat sat and stared up at me, the living embodiment of indifference.
"What." My cat continued to stare. I was planning to just test my scanner on myself, but I might as well see if the results are consistent.
I pointed the scanner at the feline, who stared straight into me. That little head was either filled with many thoughts or none, and each was as likely as the other.
A beep, and the process was done.
"0 percent cat."
That's weird.
I pointed it at myself.
"0 percent human."
I stared back at the cat. I couldn't tell if it was pitying me or laughing at the fact that I forgot to put samples into the scanner. | I looked up from the screen and at my cat. I knew the device worked, I had practically unlimited funding from Havered, a team of genius assistants, and access to every genome ever documented. The device had to have worked. And yet, it said my cat was not a cat. Just as the implications of this started to occur to me, the "cat" looked up, stretched, and began to speak.
The God: **I suppose you were going to have to find out eventually.**
Me: What the hell!? What are you!?!
The God: **I am the cat that caught the red dot. I am the cat that killed curiosity. I am the God of Gods. I am the Lord of The Cats.**
As it spoke its body began to float into the air, its eyes began to glow a deep blood red as its gaze burned into my thoughts and seared down my spine.
The God: **Unfortunately for you, I cannot have my secret known. I'm very sorry Mathew.**
Me: But why did you have to tell me?!? If you had simply kept quite I would have never known!
Sweat trickled down my neck as my entire body felt like it was warming up. The God looked disappointed as its eyes got even brighter.
The God: **Why do you lie Mathew? What purpose does it serve when I can see your thoughts and read your emotions? If I had not spoken then you would have taken a fur sample and have found out that I lack any form of DNA. No, this way was simply faster.**
Me: Wait, please don't kill me, I won't tell anyone you're a God, just please spare my life!
The God: **Foolish Mathew, I am not going to kill you, I shall simply adjust a few things.**
Me: What do your mean "adjust"? Are going to wipe my me-
I blinked. I was standing in front of the flowers I had bought last week. I looked down at my device. "100% Tulipa Dasystemon" I felt like there was something important that I was forgetting, like when you awake from a dream but can't remember what happened in it. I also noticed that my cat was looking strangely smug. Well, that was besides the point, my device had worked, and was all that mattered.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
r/PaleWritings | 2021-12-17T21:18:53 | 2021-12-17T19:51:03 | 148 | 92 |
[WP] You are allowed to 'downvote' a government candidate instead of voting normally, reducing their votes by one. Turns out people have little love for politicians, and the majority end with negative votes. In these democracies, anonymity is the key to winning. | "I'm sorry, but we already have a candidate registered under the name Puppies Apple Pie, you'll have to choose a different pseudonym. Please choose something quickly, as we close in two minutes."
The elections office clerk was ancient. She had permed pink hair and was wearing glasses on a chain in a style that Julia could not believe had ever been fashionable. Her dress was a pre-Consolidation monstrosity that was surely only allowed under the government dress code due to some sort of grandfather clause.
Julia had spent weeks gathering the necessary signatures to become a candidate. Signing up only required twenty, but nobody answered their door anymore. She'd gotten the final one by cornering the produce manager at a grocery store. She'd done extensive data analysis to determine the best name to register under. "What about 'Anonymous'?"
"Taken." The clerk was watching the clock.
"Tits McGee?"
"He's our sitting Senator. And don't even think of registering Candidate McCandidateFace. They're all taken. You shouldn't have left this until the last day. You'll end up at the bottom of the ballot, assuming you can think of a name in the next thirty seconds."
"Wait, they're listed in the order they were received?" This was news to Julia. always in the past the big party candidates would give themselves the first slots on the ballots. The new downvoting system must have made them want to hide in the middle. She wrote down a name and handed it to the clerk. "How about this?"
The clerk nodded, looked at the clock, and pulled down the rolling gate to close the registration window.
\---------------------------------------
Julia's election night party was small. Just her, her mom, and the grocery store produce manager, Gary. Her mom had spent most of the night bustling around the kitchen, leaving her alone with him in front of the holoscreen. He kept trying to scoot towards her on the couch.
Anderson Cooper was leading the election coverage. Doing shots, as always. Julia's mom said that pre-Consolidation he'd often done the news without drinking, but everyone had decided they liked it better this way.
Anderson handed a beer bong back to Andy Cohen and continued calling results. "The Consolidated News Network can now predict that Tits McGee will be reelected to the Senate with over a million positive votes. I think it was his voting record on infrastructure that really resonated with people."
"Come on Anderson, get to the one that people really care about."
Anderson put a hand up to his ear to listen to his monitor. "They're just finishing the tally for President. As expected from our exit polls the big democratic and republican candidates both finished with large negative votes. There are still a few districts coming in but it looks to be a dead heat between Puppies Apple Pie and Anonymous. Wait one moment folks... Is that an actual candidate name?"
Anderson turned to consult with an aide who had rushed onto the set.
"It seems like we do have a clear winner, folks." Julia froze as her face flashed up on the screen. The picture she'd submitted with her application.
"The next President of the United States is candidate 'None of the Above'."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | I only ran as a joke.
I just wanted to see how many downvotes I could get by running a cringe-worthy campaign. Most people in my life didn't even know I was a candidate. Can you blame me, though? My username was 'Asslover420' and my advertising consisted of post-ironic 'Rick and Morty' memes that I shared on my personal page. I didn't expect to go viral. At all. Unfortunately, it appeared I had a little too much faith in humanity.
'Asslover420' was suddenly being discussed in full seriousness all over mainstream media. Both conservatives and progressives seemed to unite in how crazy they thought it was. Nobody could believe voters would be that stupid. And, obviously, I fully agreed.
Everyone *had* to be in on the joke, right?
As my campaign started gaining traction, I doubled down on the satire with the hope that they would realize it wasn't serious. My platform was full of vague promises that I actually couldn't deliver, like free weed for everyone and a national booty-call day, which the masses laughed at for months. No reasonable person would believe it.
Or so I thought.
Some people started theorizing that I was a political genius. That my campaign had been deliberately constructed as a critique of our electoral system, while genuinely addressing the concerns of the voter base. It turned out that every demographic loved ass and weed. Straight or gay, rich or poor, white folk and minorities. For better or for worse, these were the things they actually cared about.
I almost had a heart attack when I saw the first official poll. 'Asslover420' was eerily close to the establishment candidates. They were still ahead of me, but not by much. I told myself it was just an internet poll. Nothing indicative of the actual results. That was enough to scare me, though. I couldn't afford to let this go on.
Originally, I wasn't going to participate in the national debate. With my rising popularity, however, I knew it was my only chance to sabotage my campaign. I didn't show up in person, nor did I prepare any talking points. My goal was to engage in the debate with no memes or jokes, and show how competent the other candidates actually were.
The last thing I expected was for my opponents to do the opposite.
"Wubalubadubdub!" shouted one of the candidates, to a stunned audience. That was their opening statement.
The other candidate didn't do much better, showing up in Rastafarian colors and lighting a joint in front of everyone.
The crowd audibly cringed at them.
I wanted to die. The candidates were so desperate to beat me that they decided to imitate my style, with no regard to the thought process behind it. I had enough after that.
"You people are idiots!" I shouted. "Not just my opponents, but every single one of you that memed me into this stage! Politicians shouldn't be entertainers! How dense do you have to be to take anything I said seriously? If any of you imbeciles actually vote for me, I will literally burn this nation to the ground, just to spite you morons! Anyone else would be better than me! Study the candidates and take this seriously!"
The audience collectively widened their eyes in shock.
I smiled. It seemed to work. Everyone was too ashamed to cheer for me. My popularity plummeted in the polls after the debate. My followers were looking into the issues and researching the candidates. I actually got them to care!
On election day, I stayed off the internet and patiently waited for the results. Then, to my elation, 'Asslover420' had only received ten votes. I popped open a bottle of champagne upon seeing that. The people had spoken, and they weren't completely stupid.
My celebration didn't last long, though. The current president called my phone to congratulate me. I dropped my bottle of champagne after hearing him. Apparently, despite barely getting any votes, every other candidate had been downvoted so much that I ended up winning the election.
I sank into my couch, wondering where I went wrong. It turned out that getting people to research just made them hate the other side even more. Despite the stupidity of my platform, I was the only candidate that actually ran *for* something and paid a heavy price because of it.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out my other storied over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 2022-11-21T08:20:23 | 2022-11-21T07:58:56 | 448 | 284 |
[WP] One day, you’re just chilling in your room listening to music through your headphones. A song in a language you don’t understand comes on, however you still try to mumble along. Suddenly, with a burst of flames, a demon appears in your room saying, “Who dare summon me in the tongue of old!?” | It had a terrifying form and its eyes were blazing, but it spoke in a voice that was oddly soothing, like a lullaby.
"You called me here, so tell me: What do you wish for?" it said.
I was so scared that I couldn't even speak, but then I remembered that I had been wishing for something before the demon appeared.
"I wish for a world free of suffering," I whispered.
The demon smiled, and for a moment I thought everything would be okay, but then it said, "Your wish has been granted. But, as you wished, so did I. Now there is no suffering in the world, but there is also no joy, no love, and no hope."
The demon disappeared, and I was left in a world without emotion, without hope. | You jump out of your seat in shock, your headphones slipping off your head. Your heart is pounding as you watch the demon hovering in mid-air, its eyes burning red as it stares right at you. You try to back away but you're rooted to the spot. You open your mouth to say something but all that comes out is a stutter.
The demon frowns. "Why did you call me in the tongue of old? You must have known the consequences of such a deed."
You shake your head, still in shock. You had no idea what you had done. You try to explain that you were just singing along to a song in a language you didn't understand, but the demon doesn't seem to believe you.
Suddenly, a voice speaks from behind you. "I summoned you here," it says. You turn to see an old man standing in the corner of your room. He looks familiar, although you can't quite place where you know him from.
"This is my grandson," he continues, "and I asked him to call upon you in the old language because I knew it would be the only way to get you to grant my wish. I know it was wrong of me, but I was desperate."
The old man explains that he is dying and wants to see his family one last time. He can't leave his home, so he needs the demon's help to bring his family to him.
The demon listens to the old man's story and agrees to help him. He tells you to bid farewell to the old man, and then disappears in a puff of smoke.
You stand there in shock, wondering what just happened. You had accidentally summoned a demon, and he had granted an old man's wish. You shake your head in disbelief and take a few moments to let it all sink in. You then take a deep breath and put your headphones back on.
You smile to yourself as a new song in a language you don't understand comes on. You laugh as you mumble along and think about the strange events that just occurred. | 2022-11-29T20:04:35 | 2022-11-29T16:52:56 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] Create a story that ends with a sentence that you never thought you would utter in your entire life
Expecting something funny/ridiculous, but feel free to go out of the box
EDIT: Thanks for all the responses, guys! This prompt came out of the blue and I was interested in how this community would respond to it :)
Edit2: Welp, this was more successful than I thought it would be. Mad props to /u/AtlasNoseItch for the /r/bestof, and thanks to everybody for making my first prompt a success :D | The general looked up from his folders. Eyed the faces that circled the table. The best military and scientific minds of this generation. Every single pair of eyes, male or female, they were downcast. Serious. These were faces that looked like they ate gravel for breakfast and liked it. Today, they looked like they would rather eat shit.
"This information is accurate?"
"Checked and double-checked, sir."
"We're sure about these vocal frequencies?"
"Testing on captured subjects confirmed it, sir. It's not just the frequencies that will pacify the alien soldiers, it's the tone of voice."
"I read that, yes. It has to be both maternal and insufferably prideful."
"That's correct, sir. In those particular frequencies."
The general grunted. Took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose.
"And there's only one voice that fits this profile. Only one voice that, if we broadcast it during an engagement, will shut these alien freaks right down and let our soldiers mop up. That right?"
"Yes, sir. She's the only one, sir."
"Son of a fucking bitch." He put on his glasses, glared hard at the faces across from him. "Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Sarah Palin is the only hope for the human race." | Zevra examined the chrome maser pistol for a moment. She felt its unusual heft and squinted to see the small text next to a button labeled, "Safety." She pressed the safety down with her thumb and it made a satisfying click. A display quickly flashed on its side showing a 50% charge. Her wristphone began to vibrate. She furrowed her brow as she read the message. She put her wrist up to her ear and said, "Call him."
"Zev, we said no voice calls. Its too risky," said the man who answered.
"I know... but I'm scared. I've been holed up in this supply closet for an hour now. I just want to go home."
"Wait... wait... I'm getting some intel from HQ, they're on your floor."
"What the hell, Tommy," she said, "What's going on anyway. Is this a drill?"
"No, something bad happened. We lost control of the androids. There's a virus. It zombified them or something. They're ignoring control commands and lashing out."
She looked at the pistol again. "Be straight with me, has anyone been hurt or..."
"Killed? Yes, we lost a few security guards. Everyone else made it out, except for you. You just need to stay in that closet and be cool until the mecha SWAT team arrives."
She cocked her ear as heard pounding footsteps and the high pitched whine of high-watt servos. Its just one, she thought to herself. Just one.
"Zev? There's one near you. Be cool. Don't be a hero."
Zevra whispered into her wrist, "He's very close to me. I can hear him opening all the closets. He's seeking me out. He's getting close." He hands began to sweat and the pistol suddenly felt tiny and slippery in her hands.
"Wait, wait Zev, you need to..." She hung up on him. She took a deep breath, sprung to her feet, and kicked open the closet door and and shot the military android with a high intensity maser beam.
"DIE," she yelled as she watched its blind torso grasp around almost comically for its severed head. She pulled the trigger again, but this time held it down.
"DIE ZOMBIE ANDROID SCUM," she yelled as the pistol melted the android's head into hot metal slag at her feet. | 2014-03-11T23:08:26 | 2014-03-11T21:10:05 | 17 | 11 |
[WP]: After losing a bet, a master assassin must kill a world leader with a banana | "Potassium Assassin"
He came equipped with a banana stripped
Of its yellow filling-stuff so to choke
His intended target with circumscript
Arrangements that prescribed he joke
About with his salacious, murderous
Action to kill the foreign health leader
In fashion ironic and factitious
Because this man declared to each creature
That none consume yellow stuffed-foods freely
With such opposition was he met that
Of all to testify called none did see
Who had the foreign official neck wrapped
The tale of official ill-liked by all
Who met end choked with a banana peel | First time poster and I always love constructive feedback. Enjoy!
Killing is an art, a process. The true artist works in canvases of gags, marbles of lead, and clays of explosive compounds but it is the seductive pallete that appeals to our nature and draws us to create. Whether it’s the deep mcintosh crimson of blood or the plum purple of asphyxiation each brings their own alluring spectrum. Admittedly I’ve never dabbled in this color before Mr. President but you have helped me produce my masterpiece this evening. A simple, elegant black suit contoured to your form, a fitting base. Even in death you exude command in your stature. Alas your noble, piercing blue gaze I could not preserve, but your contorted expression of shock adds a layer to this display. Pain is beauty after all. The blazing red of your power tie neatly draws attention from your slightly engorged neck to the focal point of my grand design. Here, barely visible between the soft violet of your lips a daring splash of mingled green and yellow. The stem of a not quite ripe banana, my brush and your demise, brings the piece to a daring climax. I may be projecting Mr. President but if I’m not mistaken it would appear you have a Mona Lisa smile at the edge of your mouth. I’m certainly never too proud to pay homage to the greats. Perhaps even you the victim of my destruction, my muse, my creation had an appreciation for the macabrely absurd in your final moments. A quick photo for posterity and alas I must be on my way. To not share this moment would be the ultimate crime against art. And of course my benefactor desired proof and who am I to deny such patronage? My path is neither that of the starving artist nor the fool hardy gambler. I never make a bet that I can lose. | 2014-05-13T13:02:49 | 2014-05-13T12:59:45 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] A man hands you a credit card, pulls out a pistol, and shoots himself. You look down just in time to see the name on the card change to yours. | "Security footage clearly shows you had nothing to do with the man's death, Mr. Stephenson. We are just trying to understand how he got your credit card to begin with," The officer said calmly, his fingers resting on the keyboard, waiting for Mike to speak.
*His credit card. It was his until he gave it to me.* Mike thought. "Like I keep telling you, I have no idea how he got a hold of it. I've never seen him before and I had no idea it was missing. Please, its been a long night. I still have the guys blood on me, damn it!" Mike pulled his shirt towards the officer, who while completely unimpressed from presumably having seen much worse, was understanding.
"Of course. We will send you a copy of the official report when it is finished and will be in touch if we have any new questions for you."
And without hesitation, Mike stood up and practically bolted from the precinct.
Outside the afternoon sun waited for him where the early morning had left him when he came in. It was blinding bright outside, which didn't help Mike's headache brought on by this whole mess. *Maybe the kiosk across the street has aspirin*
He pulled out the card and looked it over as he made his way along the crosswalk. Nothing struck him as odd about it. It looked like any of the other cards in his wallet, aside from the deep, shimmering black color. The middle aged man running the small shop said nothing as he continued looking it over, but stared at him as he did.
Mike reached for the aspirin, something to wash it down with, and small sandwich. He soon realized he didn't have anything to pay with. *Except for...*
"We accept cards sir," The attendant said, as if reading Mike's mind. "I've seen that look before. No cash," The attendant said, laughing a bit," is no problem here." He held his hand out towards Mike, who was already starting to had the card over. Mike held his breath, anxious as it was swiped down the reader, unsure of what would happen.
"Alright. Here you are, sir. Enjoy your day." The attendant said quickly and politely, now focusing his attention on the people behind Mike.
Mike couldn't believe it. He didn't want to. He popped the aspirin in his mouth and took a quick swig of water before throwing it and the sandwich away. *This has to be a trick...* he thought. And it was a good one.
Mike began testing it everywhere. Seeing what he could buy. What the limits were. What the catch was. And so far there wasn't one. Nearly three weeks of nonstop buying and consuming. He got things he had always wanted. Things he would never need. Purchased rounds of drinks, donated to charities, bought groceries. And each time he expected it would end. That this would be the limit. Each time it cleared, and each time it eased Mike a little more. He hardly remembered how he got the card. The dead man far from his thoughts.
And then a week later it happened. Still half drunk, stumbling from the bedroom of his new home, through the wreckage of the party the night before, Mike made his way outside. Taking in the morning air, he noticed a letter taped to his door. Addressed to him.
Mike opened it and all at once a stream of paper came flying out at him. He yelled out of surprise. There were hundreds, if not thousands of sheets covering his lawn and porch. He stared dumbly at the envelope, still in his hand. *How?! What? This is...* his thoughts trailed.
Finally picking up one of the sheets, he could see a number of purchases. Businesses, cars, homes. Addresses and places he hadn't heard of. Numbers he couldn't count. Dates going back before he was born. Things he couldn't have possibly purchased.
He looked again to the envelope. A new sheet of paper slowly making its way out. He grabbed it and read the words allowed. "Balance due in full from current holder by the end of the month, or cardholder will be subject to collection agencies." The total glared at him from the bottom of the sheet.
*I need to go buy a gun*
| Zevra held the card in her hand as she stood in shock at the dead man bleeding on the pavement below. A crowd suddenly emerged and she backed into it, still staring at the card. Questions and accusations were thrown around but no one in the crowd seemed to know what happened or that the man interacted with Zevra before he killed himself. "Wait, wait, he talked to some girl," yelled a bag lady, but they ignored her. Zevra backed off slowly and emerged from the other end of the crowd and walked down the sidewalk away from them, while wiping the blood on her shoes onto the grass.
She reached for her phone, paused, and put it back. "Okay... just be cool. You don't need this right now. That was just a crazy person," she mumbled to herself. "This didn't happen."
At first the spending was fun. Little things like coffees, makeup, snacks, and lunches were bought. Then after a while she became comfortable enough to buy a blender. She waited and waited for the bill to come in, yet it never did. The phone number on the back of the card just rang endlessly. She hung up and called her best friend.
"I'm telling you, Sarah, this is free money," she said on her phone. "Heck, I paid for this iphone with it." She laughed.
"Zev, you gotta be careful. It has your name on it, doesn't it? I mean who gets mailed a credit card with unlimited funds?"
"Mailed?... oh right, yes, it was mailed to me. Dunno, maybe I won some prize? Actually I gotta go, I have to order some things off Amazon." She said her goodbyes and hung up.
Then the nightmares started. She would wake up covered in sweat, looking down at her hands. She picked up her phone and tried to call Sarah. The phone dissolved in her hand into a pile of dust and blew away. She started screaming and then woke up for real.
"I keep having the same nightmares, over and over. I'm a teen and I'm working in a factory. Ten, twelve, fourteen hours days... My hands are sore. My back hurts. Then when its over I get dinner and sleep in a dormitory built into the factory. Day in and day out. I... can't take it," she said as Sarah listened.
"When did this start," Sarah asked, with one thin raised eyebrow.
"Uh, last week, when I got the phone I guess." Zevra's eyes went wide.
They stared at each other for a moment. Sarah said, "No way."
"Yes way!" Zevra instinctively hugged herself. "I'm somehow experiencing the life of the person who made this?"
Sarah snorted and said, "You're going crazy. You're just older now. More empathic. You probably read an article about Chinese factories and spooked yourself. Its nothing. Get some valium if it continues. Worked for Tom. He used to dream of being eaten by a frog every night. A week on valium and it all went away." She smiled and shrugged at Zevra.
"Oh, ok," Zevra said as she stared out into space for a moment.
"Wait, what else did you order?"
"Um, that pretty purple dress for John's wedding. I put a photo of it on Facebook remember?"
"Oh right, see, you're okay. Just need a break. Maybe stop using that credit card."
The dress arrived later that day and she briefly wore it, testing its fit. She smiled at herself in the mirror. "See? Nothing to worry about," she said as she unzipped herself.
The next night Zevra woke up screaming. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She ran out of bed and into the bathroom puking. "I couldn't make dresses fast enough. They poked me with needles. They burned my face. They beat me. They're going to kill me!" She sat on her knees hugging the toilet for hours.
In the morning she stared at herself in the mirror. She noticed the bags under her eyes have only gotten bigger. She quickly got dressed, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door.
She wandered the streets looking at all the clothes people were wearing. "All that suffering," she thought to herself. "and for what? Pretty things?" A car pulled up next to her as she was crossing the street. She immediately saw a man crushed to death in a Detroit factory, whispering his last words to no one who could hear due to the noise of the machinery. She mouthed those words - "Tell my wife I love her." Her mind was racing. She could barely walk straight. Everywhere she went she could see true cost of things. It was endlessly tragic. "Too much... too much," she muttered.
She reached into her bag and felt for the credit card. He hand froze when she felt the heavy metal thing in her bag. She ran up to the man driving the car. He blinked and said, "Hey, hey, you okay?"
She hit the half-open drivers side window with the full brunt on her body. He yelled. She just gave a small smile, threw the credit card at him, pulled out the pistol in her bag, and blew herself away. | 2014-09-22T09:21:57 | 2014-09-22T09:19:28 | 83 | 61 |
[WP] In 1907 Vienna Academy of Fine Arts rejects Young Adolf Hitler twice and soon after he survives four different assassination attempts by time travellers. Confused Hitler is convinced that its his art is what the world fears.
Inspiration:
http://i.imgur.com/tGV2LFt.jpg | Love this prompt. But I'm gonna try to take it into a new perspective.
--------------------------------
William returned from the past, bleeding, but alive. He sat down, hand covering his wound.
"I failed, Zachary," he uttered to his fellow scientist. "I couldn't do it. It's like he knew I was coming."
"Couldn't do what?" Zachary replied.
"I couldn't kill Hitler," William proceeded to bandage his wound, his face grave and hopeless.
"Hitler? Why would you want to kill Hitler?"
"Wh-What do you mean?"
"Hitler is the greatest artist and scientist the entire world has ever known... It's only because of his endless victories against time travelers that we have the necessary means to time travel in the first place!"
William's face froze. Something had change. He had sparked something, and made a difference, even in failure. "But.. the Holocaust? Hitler was never a dictator?"
"Hitler? HA. Personally I don't think that man could even rule a brush stroke. Remember, I didn't send you back to 1914 to kill Hitler. We're after the man who started the second Spanish inquisition. Who ruined the mustache for all of us. The most terrible tyrant in history- Salvador Dalí." | "I don't understand any of this." Adolf muttered into his coffee. "The world has gone mad."
"If someone is truly trying to kill you, as you say, then shouldn't you be more careful about what you drink?" Markus was tapping the table impatiently. He had an appointment of some kind.
"Look, here is another!" Adolf pointed to a man across the street, who was walking purposefully toward them. He had a gun in his hand, raised it up, pointed it toward Hitler. He opened his mouth and screamed something in English. The hammer came back, then-
*Wham!* A strange flying car slammed into him. He disappeared in a cloud of debris. The top of the car peeled back, and a woman emerged from it. She had some sort of tube, like a portable mortar, on her shoulder. She aimed it at Hitler, but then-
*Zip!* A pullet whizzes past Adolf's ear and strikes her in the stomach. She jerks, and the tube fires what looks like a glowing star high in the air. Adolf turns to facethe one who fired the bullet, only to find him struggling to clear a jam in his weapon.
"Adolf, I think these people are trying to kill you."
"The world has gone mad."
"Let's go to the pub. Have a pint. Wait for this all to blow over."
They take off down the street together. A man pulls a knife on them, and is hit by car. A tiger runs past them and mauls someone in a jumpsuit. All around Hitler, the world is filled with chaos.
"My art can't have upset this many people." Hitler mused.
"I'm not sure. It is pretty God-awful." Markus side steps a man with a sword, who falls on a landmine and is blown to smithereens. "Have you considered anything other than art?"
"No. I will be an artist. It is my dream."
"Hitler!"
They turn. There is a giant, green tank with the main gun pointed directly at them. Sitting on top of it is a man, red faced with anger.
"Do you remember me, Hitler? Do you remember what you did to my family?"
"Ummm..." Hitler scrutinized him. "No."
"You were responsible for so much pain and suffering, and now you will *die!* Main cannon, fi-"
A glowing white star fell from the sky and turned the tank, the man, and most of the street they were on into silvery powder. Adolf and Markus blinked.
"Look at the people inspired by my art!" Adolf said. | 2014-11-16T12:00:08 | 2014-11-16T11:58:59 | 77 | 35 |
[WP] Write the most elaborate, over-dramatic, and exciting story you can think of that all just turns out to be a set-up for a pun so horrible I'll want to punch you
It actually doesn't have to be dramatic or exciting or anything similar, just make sure it's elaborate so the final pun delivery is a gut-wrenching blow | I sat with him for the first time not irritated by the wheezing blocked breaths I had put up with for the last thirty odd years. I had chosen to marry this man, and I hated him. Tonight, though, for the first time in so long, that wasn't on the forefront of my mind.
My knitting also sat on my lap, a stitch dropped and ignored three rows ago. So unlike me. The clicking that used to bore through my Rudy's brain had stopped temporarily as a kind of cease-fire as we watched the world end in between our awful floral-print curtains, chosen by me because he would surely hate them.
God, I had used to love him, I found myself thinking as we sat there, unable to speak, to cry, as the weather tore the cul-de-sac to shreds around us. Our own shoddy roof tiles tore off. When we moved in he promised he would fix them, but he never had. The man I fell in love with truly meant it. Rudy now, the man filled with blind hate and disappointment, would never think of doing something that would make me happy.
When we met, I thought his name was Red, because that's what they all called him, the other firefighters. Named because of the times he'd emerge from buildings totally destroyed with a child or cat or grandmother slung over his wide, strong shoulders, red-faced and on the point of unconsciousness. Red saved the day. I fell in love with him. Not this bag of gas; this man who raised a leg to fart on his armchair, who muttered about my cooking as if I couldn't hear, this man who would correct the weather man as we watched the news. For the life of me I can't think of anything more annoying than that. Are you an expert, dear, or is he?
"It doesn't look like a storm is coming," he scoffed, when the weatherman explained to us that the apocalypse, essentially, was coming to Britain. "It just looks like rain."
"Well that's that, then," I said, a little too hysterically. When, hours later, it arrived to tear us up, I finally snapped out of staring and picked up my handbag.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To the shop," I said, with a fury I didn't think I could bear. "It's only rain after all, right? Right? So come with me. Let's go for a walk. Or can't the great Red handle a pitter patter of rain?" To my surprise he stood, put his hands on his hips, and flung open the door.
"Yes!" he yelled, his face becoming ruddy with mirrored displaced fury. The last straw. "Out we go. Come on, dear. Come on. Let's go for a stroll like we used to."
"Fine!" I screamed over the howling winds. One step outside and my handbag was already lost to the gale. I suppressed a scream and walked a second step, arm in arm with the man I married and the man I hated.
Out of the wind and fog flew a tile from our own roof, shattering the back of his skull in a second and sending him to his knees and then to the ground. With a shriek, I kneeled beside him. "No, Rudy. Oh, God, not like this. There are so many things I wanted to talk about before this happened, please, look at me. Talk to me. It's just rain. It's only raining. You were right. You were right, Rudy, please - I was wrong. Just rain." I was sobbing harder than I ever had in my daydreams of his demise.
He looked up at me, the colour already clouding over in his eyes. For a second the man I loved shone through, and then, "Yes," he said. "Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear." | "Something is wrong with the water," Suzanna declared, sashaying into the saloon. She plopped the water bucket onto the bar without ceremony, startling several drunks nearby.
With a long-suffering sigh, Stu gave another cowboy a glass of whiskey. If this girl wasn't Meg's cousin, he'd have fired her long ago. "What exactly is wrong with it, Suzanna?" he resigned himself to the inevitable question.
The girl huffed, wiping curls dark with sweat from her brow, as with the other hand she filled up a mug to take to a table. "Well, for starters, it's yellow."
"Yellow!" Stu exclaimed. "Can't be!"
"You sayin' I don't use my eyes?" Suzanna challenged him, black eyes sparking.
Flattening his hair nervously with one hand, the saloon owner muttered his answer. "I'm saying you don't use something."
The young spitfire either didn't hear him or let it slide, hoisting a tray onto her shoulder without comment. She turned to him before serving her table, one hand planted sassy-like on her hip, to say, "Alls I'm sayin' is, I pulled the water up from the well, and it was yellow. You're welcome to use it for your cookin', if'n you want, but my money says if it looks like piss, and it smells like piss..."
She left the sentence hanging and went to dump her load at the poker table in the corner, sending him one smarty-pants look on her way.
He frowned in his quiet way. "Smells like piss?" he repeated, more to himself than to anyone else.
He approached the bucket cautiously.
"I wouldn't get close enough ter smell it, 'f I were you, pardner," slurred a very, very drunk miner from his barstool. "Man could knock 'imself out thataway." He accentuated the warning with a couple of whiskey-flavored hiccoughs.
"Thanks for the advice, Corner. I'll exercise due caution."
Suzanna dropped under the bar and popped up on the serving side again. "Soup," she told him with the sort of sadistic, sickly sweet smile only she could dole out. "Poker table's got a hankerin' for some of that vegetable brew you cook up now 'n agin."
Stu stopped short of slapping a hand to his forehead. "And they ordered that all on their own, did they?" he growled.
Suzanna shrugged those pretty shoulders, her pink dress rustling with the movement. "You brought me to this hellhole. No reason I shouldn't make you wallow in it."
"Your kindness, as ever, simply overwhelms the soul."
His dry tone had several of the drunks within earshot tittering with laughter. Suzanna flounced away, and Stu winced. He'd pay for that one later.
But for now, he had a water problem.
Peering anxiously over the rim, Stu could see that Suzanna had been telling the truth--the water was yellow. Crinkling his nose with dread, Stu inched his face closer to the liquid surface, and inhaled sharply.
With relief, he found Suzanna had exaggerated about the smell. As far as he could tell, it didn't smell like anything.
Stu cleared his throat, something he was unaccustomed to doing, and asked the saloon's patrons, "Don't suppose any of you fellas are brave enough to take the first taste of Suzanna's yellow water?!"
The room fell silent. Stu tipped the bucket so the room's occupants could see inside. Nobody volunteered.
With a swallow, Stu sweetened the deal a little bit. "The man who does will earn drinks on the house."
Still no takers.
"Drinks on the house for the whole month," he offered, choking a little on the words as they escaped. "Come on, boys. Just don't let it touch your tongue, if'n you're scared."
Silence reigned still as every man shook his head.
Finally, from the back, an old man stood. He was the oldest man in town, had been here since before the mine, and could barely move. Now he wobbled his way to the front of the room, joints creaking and popping in the tense quiet.
"Ain't got nothing to lose," he rattled, and dipped his teacup into the yellow water. "Happy trails to y'all," warbled the old-timer, and downed the cup in one swallow.
Setting the teacup down, he smacked his lips thoughtfully.
"Tastes like... candy," he decided.
Then, suddenly, the old man sprouted wings. And with a gleeful whoop, he soared through the saloon doors and out of sight, singing, "Red Bull gives you wiiiiiiiiings!"
| 2015-01-13T12:16:49 | 2015-01-13T10:22:08 | 80 | 15 |
[WP] When you die, you see a screen reading "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality" Which do you chose and what happens next? | *Phil hits a button reading, 'Exit to Reality.' He suddenly realizes that he's been starting at his phone for a fairly long time now inside a fashionable coffee shop.*
P: Wait, what? Where...
*He looks up from his phone to see a somewhat familiar face seeming all too pleased at Phil's confusion.*
J: So? What did you think?
P: Je... Jerry?
J: Jeez, that game really got you dazed, huh? I told you, man, that shit's addicting!
P: Wait... where's Gretchen?
*Jerry begins looking a little concerned.*
J: You mean... Gretchen Barber? From the game? Dude, are you alright?
P: It wasn't a game! We were together for 15 years!
*Jerry, with a concerned look on his face, puts his hand on Phil's shoulder.*
J: Where do you think you are right now?
P: I don't know, heaven, maybe?
*Jerry starts chucking.*
J: Man, if heaven looks like this... I mean, I guess God would be the kind of guy that likes a more subdued aesthetic, but I wouldn't think there'd be homeless people sleeping on the coffee tables.
*Jerry narrows his eyes again.*
J: Wait, are you serious? Phil, we're inside that cafe you like. It's our lunch break. Any of this sound familiar?
*A sharp pain focuses itself above Phil's right eye, and he noticeably winces.*
P: Wait, this isn't right. I live in Denver, it's winter right now, it shouldn't be sunny. And also, I should be significantly older. And also, I shouldn't be breathing. I remember everythi-
J: Ok, Phil, you're kind-of freaking me out right now.
*Phil stands up, his voice escalating.*
P: How do you know my name, Jerry? And how do I know yours?
*He looks at his own legs. His voice falls to a shaky whisper.*
P: How am I standing?
*Phil sits down, shaking.*
P: How am I standing?
*Jerry, cautiously, puts his arm on Phil's*
J: Phil, you were just playing a game. It was called, 'An Ordinary Life,' and it was an accelerated life simulator. You've been staring at your phone for the past fifteen minutes, and that's all that's happened.
*Phil, still shaking, stares at his feet.*
J: I'm sorry, man, I wouldn't have suggested you try it out if I knew that it could impact people like this. I mean, I got pretty into my own simulation, but I didn't know that some people could actually lose themselves in it. Here, pal, take this.
*Jerry hands him over a chocolate bar.*
J: You should eat something.
*Phil reached over to grab it, but before he did, he stopped suddenly, thinking about something.*
P: What if this is just another game? Like, another layer?
*Jerry chuckled.*
J: Well, you know, it most likely is. You can see the dead pixels over across the street, right?
*Jerry pointed across the street, where it seemed like the buildings had a little less detail than they should have.*
J: But, really, does it matter that much? It sucks that you forgot how many levels deep you're down, but I'm sure if you're ever needed on the next level, someone will 'wake you up.' Eat up, we have to head in back to work.
*Phil reluctantly takes the chocolate bar and begins chewing methodically, lost in thought.*
| What a fantastic end to the night. Downtown always looked best after dark and the snow fall added just the right amount of contrast to the scene. It was my annual Christmas office party and we had just left the venue. As I opened the cab door to let my wife in she smiled at me and I thought for the hundredth time how right she was about not driving here. We knew it was an open bar and we decided to just be safe about it.
We were sitting in the back seat as I went over all of the office gossip about the people I had just introduced her to when she picked her head up my shoulder.
"What is that guy, drunk?".
I looked up just in time to see a pair of headlights swerve from the oncoming lane and into ours.
Everything was dark, well almost everything. Two glowing ovals floated in space right in front of me. On the left one of them read 'New Game+', and on the right the other said 'Exit to Reality'.
"What the hell is this?"
I was just in a car with my wife, but now ... where the hell am I? I tried to search around but there was nothing else here and no matter which way I looked those two buttons were the only things I could see. It occurred to me that we must have been hit by that other driver. I've read before that when people have traumatic things happen to them their brains come up with elaborate scenes to process the information. This must be what my brain came up with instead of a tunnel of light, like this was all just some kind of video game.
I immediately dismissed the option of "Exiting to reality". If this was my life's version of the tunnel of light then there was no question, I was walking away from it. The sense of panic started in my heart and lit my entire body on fire in less then a second. My arm flew up and selected the other option without any more thought, I had to make sure she was OK. I couldn't waste anymore time here, I *had* to know what happened. The sign lit up, letting me know that I had made my selection. As my arm came back down to my side something occurred to me "Shouldn't that say 'Continue'"?
I blinked and then I was surrounded by darkness, I knew I was opening my eyes but it didn't do any good there was nothing to see. I could feel my body again but I couldn't move. I heard some strange noises coming from outside, but they were distorted like they was coming through a thick wall.
I thought right away that the car had been crushed and that I was stuck inside and upside down. The accident must have been bad. There was a pushing down near my feet and feeling that I was moving, slowly toward something. Then came the unbelievable crushing pressure on my skull, like it was in some kind of vice that squeezed down on it from every angle at once. I wanted to scream but my chest was paralyzed and there was no air in my lungs. "Oh God! What is this? What is going on?" The sensation that I was being pushed slowly through this coffin continued as I struggled to move my arms so I could create some amount of space for my self.
Then I saw the light. It wasn't the pleasant feeling of safety you get when you finally find the lamp in a dark room. It was a searing pain that shot through my eyes and stabbed into every corner of my brain. I could finally breath now, and I could finally scream. I risked opening my eyes again just for a second, just to see if I could figure out was going on. I saw men surrounding me, pulling me out of something. I knew that they must be the EMT's. They must have arrived in time to get me out of the wreck and I have never been happier to see another living being. I couldn't keep my eyes open for long though and the pain forced me to squeeze them back shut on reflex. I felt my arms and legs flailing around now kicking at nothing but air. I was finally free.
My entire body hurt like nothing else I had ever felt. I can't stand any kind of light and even when I get up the nerve to open my eyes again I can't see more then two feet in front of me. I can't control my arms or legs and I although I am aware of people talking, their sounds they are making don't make any sense. I must have a really bad concussion. I think my skull is broken. As my body is wrapped from head to toe in a warm blanket, I finally feel that I can pass out. Just before I do a thought finds its way into my mind; I'm six foot four, how fucking big is this monster that is now holding me?
A new bubble pops up in front of me: "Achievement Unlocked: Forever Reincarnated" The smaller text below it says: "Respawn to this world 100 times.". What the hell does that mean?
| 2015-03-13T14:14:05 | 2015-03-13T14:07:56 | 252 | 15 |
[WP]You wish to a genie that all of humanity would gain super powers. The genie tells you this wish was granted 5000 years ago. | The weight of greed weighed heavily upon my avaricious heart. I slipped the lamp from my backpack and pondered upon the potential rewards. While constrained against wishes for resurrection, love, and death, possibilities still danced through the hall of my mind. My heart's desire overpowered my rational restraint and my hand idly caressed the warm brass.
The lamp leaped from my lap and rattled against the cave's stony floor. A scarlet mist swirled from the spout until a suffocating fog engulfed the room. Amber eyes pierced the shroud. "You gaze upon me with a spark of familiarity. Do you know what I am?"
I managed a nod.
"You have begun our contract, mortal. Speak your wishes and allow me to return to the Aether."
My tongue stumbled over my teeth, scrambling to find the words to speak my desires, but no words revealed themselves. The fog shuddered with an exasperated sigh.
"No matter. I shall find your wishes within you," The Genie whispered. "Your wishes three: the most solemn wish from the heart, a sincere wish from the mind, and a wish from your soul."
The gold eyes disappeared and the fog cycloned around me. Liquid ice sloshed into my lungs.
"Hm, your soul is fragmented by tragedy. Resurrecting those lost do not restore a shredded soul. But contained within this tragedy is a wish that no one else be faced with such loss. You desire that all of humanity could bend the Aether to their will and have power beyond to stop death, fly, communicate telepathically and more."
Hearing my wish put to words made even my clothes feel weightless.
"I cannot."
The Genie's denial dashed my hopes, leaving only questions.
"I gave humanity this power over 5000 years ago."
Questions still burned behind my eyes, water welling in their depths.
"Humanity was given sapience. This knowledge has led to your people forestalling death with medicine, conquering the skies with metal birds, communicating with each other nigh instantaneously over waves. You have even shuffled the coils this planet has wrapped round you ankles and have touched the faces of the stars themselves."
A frown forced itself onto my lips.
"My gift was insufficient for you? That, mortal, speaks to why I cannot grant you authority over the Aether. Greed poisons the veins of humanity and like a plague you would infect our cosmic realm. As a genie, I bring an intervention into the fabric of your natural world. But I am constrained as an agent of the Aether."
My head slumped.
"I can, however, still restore your soul. I cannot bring your sister back to life, but I can grant you one hour to visit her in my realm."
My head snapped back to regard the genie. The yellow eyes had returned, this time shimmering with a soft light.
"Come. She has much to tell you." | "What?!" I sputtered. This had to be some sort of joke, right? I think I'd know if I had super powers - if the whole of humanity had superpowers.
In front of me, the genie chuckled brazenly. "Yup. Almost three thousand BC. Some barmy little guy just like you - big dreams and all - wished the very same thing." The genie crossed its arms, flashing a toothy grin.
I stared, jaw slightly agape. In my hands, the golden lamp warmed. My knuckles whitened. I was ready to throw the stupid thing. "You've got to be bloody kidding me. I manage to make it all this way just to have you tell me that my wish has already been granted? What kind of sick joke is this?" I'm almost shouting now, my body straining to keep itself in check.
The genie continues to stand, unfazed. I want to wipe that stupid grin of its face. The corner of its mouth twitches. "Yes."
I feel heat rise in my lungs, my heart sinking further in my chest with each racing beat. This makes no sense. The genie's a dirty liar. I wouldn't be making this god-damn wish if humans already had super powers. I wouldn't be in this bloody mess if humans had super powers. The eff-ing sham. I exhale and feel my body tremble.
"You don't believe me," the genie says. Its smile has lost its edge, but its eyes still glitter with amusement. Its watching me, I can feel it. Watching my every move. "Why don't you ask your little friend over there, the one with the freckles."
I stop. I'd damn near forgotten about Jamie. Too busy thinking about my stupid wish. But the genie did have a point. "Jamie..." I breathed through clenched teeth. I continued to stare down the genie, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him. He swallowed, hands pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves.
"I know nothing, I swear!" His voice rattled through the forest, coarse and deep. Leaves crackled under his weight. He didn't elaborate.
"Jamie," I said again,. The terseness was thick. I was losing my patience.
The genie watched on. I paid it no mind.
"I told you, I don't know anything," he pleaded, but I saw it - the little twitch in his right eye... The lying son-of-a-bitch!
My fingers clenched and unclenched, the lamp left to fall to the dirt. I turned my full fury towards him, expression sharpened into a glare, and words smouldering in the back of my throat. "What the hell do you know about this!" I roared.
This was my hope. This was my dream. And that lying son-of-a-bitch... I breathed in ragged gasps, my body curling forward, struggling to contain my own rage. My heart drummed against my chest, a constant, ever-speeding rhythm. It burned. It burned so much. How could he betray me like this?!
Something clicked inside of me: the soft, inconsequential flick of a lighter switch. I blinked.
. . .
Everything tasted of smoke and ash. Blearily, I blinked away the pounding in my head and coughed once, twice. My limp body ached, laying boneless among silt and dust. Around me, nothing but charred shades of charcoal-grey rising from the under-brush into blackened stalagmites that stretched into the smoky sky. I sat up, albeit unsteadily, and blinked again. An attempt to rub soot from eyes only aided in worsening the problem.
When I could finally see clearly I noticed that I was alone. Jamie, the genie - both of them gone. There was only the gold lamp, the crumbling and burnt remains of a once green and wild forest, and me, conspicuously unharmed in the centre of the aftermath.
God, what was I going to do.
- - -
*I haven't written anything substantial and fictitious in a good long while. And this is my first time putting something up here so I hope any accidental breaches of etiquette are forgiven. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed.* | 2015-03-18T23:07:19 | 2015-03-18T22:52:35 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] Instead of three wishes, a genie grants you three questions that he will answer truthfully, regardless of whether any human knows the answer. | He didn't look like a genie. He just looked like a guy in a bar. He WAS a guy in a bar. He had a plaid shirt and a glass of whisky and the beginnings of a good beard and a bored, blankish, tired expression. All guy-in-a-bar things. Not genie things.
But that's what he said when he called me over. I was also a guy in a bar, just there that day being a guy in a bar. I was scanning my eyes around, trying to look cool, when he caught my eye and waved me over. I don't know what it is about a stranger waving you over, but I always seem to go. When I got next to him, he said. "You look as good as any. You're my pick for the day. I'm going to tell you something a little improbable."
Then he rattled off the next few sentences with the same bored disinterest of a waiter who has announced the same specials for a hundred years.
"I'm what you would call a genie. As far as I know, I'm the only one. I sit with someone new every day, once a day. I'm not exactly sure why. But today I'm here, and today it's you."
Those sentences just sat in the air, fat and weird.
But life tends to be more interesting if you're a good sport. So I responded.
"Shouldn't you have, like, a lamp, or a blue glow or something?"
He looked down at the table, took a sip of his whisky and shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. We still live in a physical universe with laws and boundaries. I can't just, for example, create a mountain of gold out of nothing. That would involve creating atoms of gold out of void, which just isn't physically possible. So I can't make someone immortal or give you the ability to walk on water. What I can do is answer questions. Any question that can be known. I've been around a long while, I have certain unusual abilities, and I can answer any question. But I keep it to three per asker these days, to make things simpler for myself."
He was so bored and so tired as he said it all that, I don't know, I believed him. It was like there was no sales in him at all. There was another fat, stupid moment of silence as I just looked him over.
"So, it's not really magic, then?"
He leaned back and shrugged, still not looking at me. "That's the thing. Magic isn't real. Obviously. But some very real things can look an awful lot like magic. There's nothing *physically* impossible about knowing something. That's why I can be here. But knowing *everything* is pretty special, and can look an awful lot like magic. But it doesn't feel like magic to me. More like a side effect of infinity.
"Am I going to get three questions?"
The genie finished his whisky, sucked his teeth, and put it down. "You already have."
Once again, there was fat, stupid silence.
"The first question was 'Shouldn't I have a lamp?' Number two was 'So it's not really magic?' And number three was 'Am I going to get three questions?' And the answer is yes, you already have."
That's when I felt a cold, black wave of panic wash over me.
"But that's not fair!" I said. "I'm supposed to learn, like, some great truths or something here! I didn't realize we had already started!"
Now the genie smiled and looked at me. He pointed at a fiftyish barfly on a stool. "You see that guy? He's got a great idea for a book. Really wonderful. He got the idea when he was just out of college. He wants to write it when he's got some time, but he works long hours and most days he's pretty tired after work, so today he just wanted to hit the bar for a quick drink. He'll write the book when he's got some time, next week maybe, or next year."
"You see him?" he continued, pointing at a guy in his mid thirties at the other end of the bar. "He had a great business idea once, but his wife had just had a kid and just to be safe, he put it aside for a little while, and then someone else went and did it."
"And her" This time he pointed at the bartender. "She's in love with someone but hasn't told them because she's scared."
"There is great value and adventure and truth in front of these people every day, and they're only really around for a microsecond, but for some reason that baffles even me, every day they just don't pick it up."
He stood up, grabbed a coat off the back of his chair and swung it on. Then he looked at me.
"You want a great Truth? Here's one: no one seems to realize that they've already started." | "Three." The genie chanted, "But only three. Choose wisely, human, for while I am sworn to truth, the truth may not be what you truthfully desire. You may ask anything."
I sat there for a long time. Thinking. I had to make good use of this moment.
"If you were a human, would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or 1 horse-sized duck?" The genie's face fell. "This.. This is your first question? Do you not know who I am?! I AM BALFAZONAK! 1400 YEARS OF SERVICE, 1434 YEARS OF WISDOM, YOU WISH TO WASTE ONE OF THE MOST PRECIOUS GIFTS AVAILABLE TO YOUR PLANET AND MY TIME?" I cut the genie off, he hated that. "Look. Mr. B, I'm the one here asking questions. When you rub my magic lamp we'll see what happens, but right now you owe me an answer. Well three, but first that one."
The genie sighed. "I detest your question. Very well though. I would cho-" was all the genie was able to say before I interrupted him again. "Y'know. I don't care for your attitude very much. You should really try to get out more. I want to speak to your manager." The genie exhaled sharply, trying to compose himself, "mortal. I could *end* your life with the ease of a breath. Do not test me. We do not have 'managers'. We merely each have a mentor. They are not for these affairs and mine has been unheard from for quite some time even if I desired to contact him I could not. Now, let me answer your inane question so that we may continue."
"Geez, someone woke up on the wrong side of the lamp."
The genie ignored my comment and continued with the first answer with more than a hint of annoyance. "One horse-sized duck. I have the knowledge of how to take down a large foe safely, but as a human, I may not have the endurance to take down 100 smaller foes." he continued after a pause, "Two." The genie chanted slowly regaining his composure, "But only two. Choose wisely, human, for while I am sworn to truth, the truth may not be what you truthfully desire. You may ask anything."
I then sat staring at the genie for hours. Occasionally I would stare deep into the sky and then back into his ghostly eyes and ponder some more. I even began searching through my phone and the internet. Finally when I was satisfied that he felt I had a worthy question I began to speak.
"What is a five letter internet slang term for someone who deliberately tries to get an emotional response from another? I'm stuck on this crossword puzzle."
"YOU FOOL!!" bellowed the genie, "DO YOU HAVE ANY *IDEA* OF THE WASTE YOU HAVE BROUGHT FORTH? YOU COULD HAVE SOLVED NEARLY ANY PROBLEM ON YOUR PLANET WITH MY KNOWLEDGE. YOU COULD HAVE ACQUIRED THE KNOWLEDGE TO OBTAIN ANY DESIRE. AND YOU WASTE IT ON SUCH DRIVEL? YOU MOCK ME WITH SUCH TRIVIALITY? I SHOULD" I interrupted him again. The frustration in his features was all that I could have ever hoped for.
I looked Balfazonak in the eye, "Gee. That's a lot of words, I don't think any of them are the answer to my crossword puzzle though. You should really do your job." Balfazonak had fire in his eyes. He was not the kind to enjoy being taunted so openly. "Troll. The word you seek is troll, human."
Barely holding any composure together the Genie sighed with great frustration. "ONE." Balfazonak chanted with his teeth grinding together "But only one. Choose wisely, human, for while I am sworn to truth, the truth may not be what you truthfully desire. You may ask anything." He added to the end, "And do not waste my time again or I will swear on my soul I will vaporize you where you stand."
This time I didn't need to think at all for my final question. "What year will your mentor be freed of his service and what will happen to him?"
The genie had enough. With a roar he screamed, "YOU INSUFFERABLE WRETCH! ARE YOU SO INCOMPETENT THAT YOU DO NOT EVEN KNOW HOW TO COUNT, LET ALONE MAKE USE OF THE MOST PRECIOUS GIFT THAT TENS OF MILLIONS WOULD GIVE THEIR LIFE FOR A THIRD OF IT? I WILL GRANT YOU YOUR ANSWER AND EVEN THE ANSWER TO YOUR EXTRA QUESTION, BUT ONLY AS I VAPORIZE YOU INTO THE PILE OF ASH YOU DESERVE TO BE!" He attempted a deadpanned voice then, but it was too filled with anger to work as intended, "My mentor will be freed in the year 2015 AD and as with all genies, he will be given the option to become human and maintain his knowledge."
"That's right. And what a time to be human. You're really missing out, Balfy. Knowledge takes you even farther than you could imagine these days too."
Balfazonak. Blinked.
"No.."
"Yes."
"Ksumnole? Mentor? You serpent!"
"It's Elon now, I flipped it around, figured a new name and fresh start would be nice."
"I nearly vaporized you were you stood! Why would you do this?"
"I didn't come to ask you questions, Balfy, although I have always enjoyed a good joke. I came to tell you to find me when your service ends. We have a lot of work to do. We're going to push technology to the limits with our knowledge, what a time to be alive."
"But mentor.. My service doesn't end for another 162 years. By then your human body will have been long dead."
"We're going to push technology to the limits with our knowledge. Genies will no longer be the only immortal beings on this planet, Balfy, I swear it."
And with that, the genie was left to imagine his own questions. | 2015-05-22T11:19:22 | 2015-05-22T08:29:43 | 318 | 135 |
[WP] An angry/depressed dictionary writer can't keep his personal problems out of word examples | -grief
ɡrēf/
noun
deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.
-slide
slīd/
noun
a structure with a smooth sloping surface for children to slide down, now sitting there uselessly
-cab·i·net
ˈkab(ə)nət/
noun
a cupboard with drawers or shelves for storing or displaying articles that should have been locked | Harlot [harh –luht]
A prostitute or promiscuous woman.
Examples:
Only a fool would spend a decade with a cheating harlot.
That harlot blew Ted's best friend during their anniversary party.
***
Harm [hahrm]
To physically injury or mentally damage.
Examples:
Jeez, what harm could it be to cheat on your loving spouse?
Ted wanted to harm his bitch of a wife but she threatened to alert the police.
***
Harmonica [hahr-moh-nee-uh]
A small, metal box which functions as a musical instrument by producing sound through a series of holes.
Examples:
Ted's wife, similar to a harmonica player, likes to blow as much as possible.
Ted swears to God if he sees his ex-wife’s harmonia again, he’ll shove it right up her [redacted].
***
**Here's an alternative version since cheating wives seem to be a popular idea:**
Sugar [shoo g-er] Noun
A crystalline substance. Used to sweeten foods.
A term of affection. (slang)
Examples:
Sugar is the only thing that makes me happy these days.
No one has called me Sugar since Grandma died.
***
Suggest [suh g-jest] Verb.
To mention or introduce an idea.
To propose.
Examples:
Many would suggest not eating to hide the pain.
I suggest they fuck off.
***
Suicide [soo-uh-sahyd] Noun.
The intention of taking one’s own life.
Examples:
Maybe suicide is better than dealing with these assholes.
I jumped from my desk and made my way to the roof, thoughts of suicide filling my mind. | 2015-06-09T16:56:14 | 2015-06-09T13:39:50 | 210 | 156 |
[WP] You have the ability that lets you know exactly what to say to someone at any given moment that would cause them to break down in tears. | "Its not that hard." Pete said, stirring his drink absentmindedly, "People always go after the weaknesses in others. People assume that makes them strong, somehow."
Richard furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? What else would you do?"
Pete stopped fidgeting with his drink and looked at Richard levelly. "If I were to go to prison tomorrow, do you think I would have an easier time of it if I were to a) walk in and kick the shit out of the tiniest, frailest man in there or b) beat down the biggest, meanest, most cro-magnon looking motherfucker in the place?"
Richard said nothing.
"The whole trick to what I do, to everything I do," Pete said, "is that I go after their strengths. A man will spend his entire life compensating for his short comings. If I tell a guy he has a big nose, do you think thats the first time hes heard it? He knows how to deflect that sort of insult without letting it hurt him. What I do is go after their strengths. If you can make somebody feel awful about something that they are proud of, something that truly makes them feel good about themselves, then all they are left with is their insecurities. That is the secret to cutting deeply."" Pete popped an olive in his mouth casually. "And thats all there is to it."
Richard cautiously sipped his own drink.
| He looked at her with disgusted eyes. She pranced back and forth in front of him rambling about his wrong doings which he did not care about. "Oh I could break you in a few simple words." He thought to himself. All he had to do was stare and they come to him like a flash. She seemed to believe she had all the power in the world but yet it could all come crashing down in seconds. Her composure, her intimidation all gone.
"Matt, you have done nothing for this company but steer it towards ruin. I cannot think of anything productive you have done for us in the 3 months you've been here so I've got not choice but to..."
"Oh I don't think you want to continue that sentence Mary. I really don't." He replied. Oh it felt good. He had dreamed about this moment for what seemed like every night.
"Excuse me? Who do you think you are? I am in charge of this company. You are nothing but a useless nobody that will never get anywhere!! She screamed. The visible anger was rather amusing to Matt. He could no longer hold in the laughter. All it was doing was making her more frustrated. Now was the time to end this.
"Don't you think you should tell someone?" She turned to face him like a deer in some headlights. "You know... About the cancer. Terminal right? Stage 4? What is your family going to say? What is going to happen to the company? So much lost..." Then, her mental barrier collapsed. She broke down in front of him. Like they all had done before her. Her eyes balling. How did he know? He could he possibly have known? She thought to herself.
"How did you know that?! How?!" She cried. Matt said nothing and turned and walked out of the office. She was distraught. Her screams could be heard throughout the office. She complete wreck and Matt loved it. He didn't care for her feelings. Perhaps his former self would have but this ability... It changed him into someone he enjoyed much more than his former self. Reaching the end of the hallway, he turned to his now former co-worker with a smug face.
"You should go and see Mary. I think she might need some time off..."
Edit: Thanks for the tips guys. I wrote this pretty fast and didn't check through it very much. I'll be sure to include these in my future writing. Also yes, the main character was supposed to be disliked. I was trying to imply that this power had changed him into basically a sociopath. But again, thanks for the tips. I don't do is very often so feedback is much appreciated. :) | 2015-06-16T15:54:33 | 2015-06-16T14:43:10 | 499 | 53 |
[WP] You have the ability that lets you know exactly what to say to someone at any given moment that would cause them to break down in tears. | **Some Judge**
Standing on the corner of 10th and main
I see this woman berating a man I assume to be her lover
She reminds me of someone
I can't put my finger on her
I say:
Ma'am, this won't bring the old one back,
demeaning this one.
No one will ever love you.
She bursts into tears
And I ingratiate her victim
Turn, admire my clairvoyance
and stroll away proudly
Later, I see a hostess
being accosted by a man
while she tends to the podium at this
five star restaurant
He's lewd, so I say to him:
Sir, no matter how hard you try
you will always remain impotent
if you go running about
accosting innocent people
And he turns beet-red
(this color has a purple tint to it)
I see tears in his eyes
He storms at the bathroom.
I then ingratiate his victim
Turn, admire my clairvoyance
(actually, I guessed this time)
and stroll away proudly.
At home
I turn the light on above the mirror
The bathroom is white
I look at my reflection in the mirror
See this gaunt body, hunched and translucent.
I say something quietly to myself
I go to my bedroom
I lay down
I weep
| He looked at her with disgusted eyes. She pranced back and forth in front of him rambling about his wrong doings which he did not care about. "Oh I could break you in a few simple words." He thought to himself. All he had to do was stare and they come to him like a flash. She seemed to believe she had all the power in the world but yet it could all come crashing down in seconds. Her composure, her intimidation all gone.
"Matt, you have done nothing for this company but steer it towards ruin. I cannot think of anything productive you have done for us in the 3 months you've been here so I've got not choice but to..."
"Oh I don't think you want to continue that sentence Mary. I really don't." He replied. Oh it felt good. He had dreamed about this moment for what seemed like every night.
"Excuse me? Who do you think you are? I am in charge of this company. You are nothing but a useless nobody that will never get anywhere!! She screamed. The visible anger was rather amusing to Matt. He could no longer hold in the laughter. All it was doing was making her more frustrated. Now was the time to end this.
"Don't you think you should tell someone?" She turned to face him like a deer in some headlights. "You know... About the cancer. Terminal right? Stage 4? What is your family going to say? What is going to happen to the company? So much lost..." Then, her mental barrier collapsed. She broke down in front of him. Like they all had done before her. Her eyes balling. How did he know? He could he possibly have known? She thought to herself.
"How did you know that?! How?!" She cried. Matt said nothing and turned and walked out of the office. She was distraught. Her screams could be heard throughout the office. She complete wreck and Matt loved it. He didn't care for her feelings. Perhaps his former self would have but this ability... It changed him into someone he enjoyed much more than his former self. Reaching the end of the hallway, he turned to his now former co-worker with a smug face.
"You should go and see Mary. I think she might need some time off..."
Edit: Thanks for the tips guys. I wrote this pretty fast and didn't check through it very much. I'll be sure to include these in my future writing. Also yes, the main character was supposed to be disliked. I was trying to imply that this power had changed him into basically a sociopath. But again, thanks for the tips. I don't do is very often so feedback is much appreciated. :) | 2015-06-16T14:58:39 | 2015-06-16T14:43:10 | 116 | 53 |
[WP] It's becoming embarassingly apparent to everyone that you've never actually killed a zombie before. | It wasn’t like I’d ever lied about it. Everyone had simply assumed. I run outside the gates gathering equipment from what remains of the ruins of civilization. People expected that I would have killed a few zombies. Now we were talking shit around the campfire, eating roasted deer; a deer I shot and brought back to camp.
“So you’ve never…?”
“Well shit how do you do it?”
I poke a stick into the fire “Does it really matter? You know I’m a good shot, I could blast one down if I needed to, or bash in a skull or two with a cricket bat, just never have. I’m always faster.”
“So you just run away?”
“Running away would imply going the opposite direction of a zombie horde, which is bad form. If you back track you’ll run into the sleepers you’ve woken while running through the area, no… you have to go left or right of the horde, skirt around it and get in front of it then outrun it. Zombies are slow, the longer they’ve been dead the slower they are and it’s been what …5 years? Since the first massive outbreak in this area, 7 from the first ever outbreak? “
“But you’ve come back with spent clips, bits of brain on your clothes. If it wasn’t a zombie, what were you killing?” Now the camp is interested, I can hear the comfortable din of conversations around the camp fade to near silence.
I look up from the fire. “I’m fast enough to out run zombies, but not bandits or madmen.” I take a bite of roasted deer as the camp grows completely silent “So… how many humans have you killed? Last week I got my 50th.”
| He felt the beads of perspiration forming on his forehead as his face began to turn a vivid red. His eyes darted from person to person searching desperately for a friendly face that was nowhere to be found. He opened his mouth hoping to find the words as he spoke.
"Yeah, I came out the toilet a few days ago and saw...erm....this zombie trying to drink some water from the tap and he.."
He was abruptly cut off by Julian, inarguably the toughest zombie killer on base, "Zombies don't drink water Dave"
Dave's mind was racing, he could feel the net closing in, he only had seconds to think of a good excuse and try to divert the attention away from himself.
"Yeah but he...the zombie...he....he'd just been to the toilet and he was washing his hands so he wouldn't get an infe..."
"Hang on a minute' Julian raised his hand and looked at Dave 'Are you trying to tell us that a zombie sneaked onto our gated compound, past all the guards and alarms, only to walk into our Porta Potty to take a shit and wash his hands?"
Dave felt he was about to pass out from pressure of a dozen eyes falling upon him. "It might have just been a pee"
"What?" Julian said in a threatening manner while moving forward.
"I never said he took a shit I just said he went to the toilet" Dave knew he had messed up as soon as the first word left his tongue.
Julian rushed forward to within inches of Dave's face "Listen here Dave, the only reason you're on this base is because you told us you used to be in the military and had first hand experience battling with the undead. Now, you've been with us for four weeks and every time we get attacked you're nowhere to be found!"
"I get Irritable bowel syndrome and this means sometimes I fee.." Dave could barely get the words out of his mouth before Julian grabbed him by the collar and started shouting again.
" Dave this is a war! Don't you understand?! People are dying! You haven't killed a single zombie have you? Dammit we lost two people yesterday!" Julian stopped as a loud alarm started to blare. People began running to their defensive positions ready for the next wave. "This is it! The big attack! Dave now is the time, now is the time to help. Forget everything and join us, grab your gun and let's go"
Dave looked up at Julian, he heard the shrill screeches of the approaching undead horde. This was it, he had always been a runner but now was his time to be a fighter. He felt the passion rise up in him, he looked in Julian's eyes and screamed "Let's do it! You're right, let's go!". He ran and grabbed his gun, he checked his magazine and looked at Julian, a small smile grew on both the men's lips, this was it. They ran to the battlements together, just before they climbed the ladder Dave had time to say one last thing to Julian.
"I've only got a BB gun, is that cool?"
| 2016-02-01T16:26:01 | 2016-02-01T14:58:34 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | *Are you ready to head out boys?* Jason yells from the living room.
We take out buttons with us, as always, just to be safe. Things used to be much more difficult before The Button was introduced. Since the first night, we haven't failed to go without a payday yet. We're working on our 56th night tonight.
*Alright let's go!* Jason impatiently yells at me.
I've been having second thoughts about getting some new friends recently. Jason and the boys have become so misguided and arrogant since The Button has been paying out.
It's Monday so we do what we always do on Mondays. We pick a nice retirement home the next town over and make our plan. Tonight's innocent victim is an elderly man sound asleep with MSNBC still flickering on his tv.
*We're going to be fast and rich again tonight boys!* Jason yells to us in an attempt to excite us. It works for most of the guys.
*Who wants to do the honors?* he asked.
Nobody steps forward because after all, we are taking another persons life.
*Why don't you do it tonight? You've been down for a while. This will pick you up.* Jason says as he points at me.
I've been selected and the guys are already pushing me forward before I can decline.
I go forward with the plan as intended. I sneak in to the room and give a thumbs up to the boys in the window to signal I've made it in.
I walk over to this man's button. I look at it, look at him. Look at it, look at him.
I go back to the window and signal to the guys.
A scream of terror echoes from the outside of the retirement home.
*Jason always liked to be the first to push his button after a job.*
Tomorrow I find new friends. | For the hundredth time, you glance at your computer screen, the bright bold number 23:50:58 flashing back at you. The button lies there innocuously, an entire section of the desk to itself, the words PRESS ME tauntingly painted on it. You edge your hand closer to the button, but that section of the desk might as well have a forcefield around it for how close you get. 23:51:23, and the day is that much closer to done, another day wasted.
You look back at your computer screen and this time you try to look past the time. You squint and pretend you can see the silhouette of the man who appeared there all those days ago, slight and dark with a voice that could not be his own. You remember his words as though he had uttered them but a moment ago, delivered with utter nonchalance yet seeming so cruel. His clasped hands, his calm demeanor, and your own bemusement before the button appeared just like that.
Everyone in the world had one, he said. At the very least, you know that your co-workers do, and that none of them would dare use it. But had anyone used it? Were people becoming rich and dying? You've scoured every last news outlet you can think of, checked any blog that might mention it, and nothing. Not a hint.
You start to sweat, your breath becomes short, and you wonder how much longer you can live this way. You shout at your screen, scream for the man to come back and explain, beg for more information, plead for an exception. He does not appear.
You sigh as the clock shifts to 23:57:00, and you start thinking of the next day, your next opportunity to press the button. Another day for her to suffer, you think, and it hurts you inside.
You hear her cough from the next room, and perhaps unconsciously, your hand brushes against the stack of letters and bills on your desk.
It is not your strength that fills you, animates you, moves your hand to the button and pushes it down. It is hers.
A moment later, the footsteps begin.
They are easy enough to ignore at first, but as they grow louder and louder behind you, at last you feel you must look. You swivel in your chair and there he is, black suit and black gloves, something in his hand.
A horrible death, was it? You relax, feeling a smile come to your face as you know you did what you could. You were blameless. You shut your eyes and await the inevitable.
A moment passes, and then another. Finally, you open your eyes, and he is gone. You see nothing but a scrap of paper on the ground, and you reach down to pick it up. You read it.
Your bank in all caps. The word "receipt". $40,000, it says.
What feels like enough air to inflate a zeppelin escapes your lungs as you hoist the receipt and hold it up high, laughing and grinning, calling for her. You made the right decision. Everything will be alright.
You don't even notice the white powder on it. | 2016-07-16T17:51:04 | 2016-07-16T17:25:16 | 3,429 | 1,781 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | *Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the god damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
-----
Maybe I should check up on how this plays out. When the button triggers... When it cycles, I guess. Yeah. National obituaries and stuff. Button stuff. Yeah, I could search for that on the internet. Easy.
Seems we have a lot of hits at a smidge past seven o'clock. Damnation! I've been off by hours! HOURS! Not tonight. Hell no, not tonight.
------
At seven PM, I start spamming the submission button. At precisely seven oh six PM, it triggers. Oh, please, please, let this be it.
I wait.
I check my credit union's website. Another ten k. Someone beat me to it. Damnit.
------
It's been a few weeks. I've learned enough about computers to write a script to submit 'press'es as soon as they can be entered. Tonight, I test it out.
Seven rolls around. I activate the script. Nothing happens for a few moments.
I contemplate my bank account. Has to be half a million in there right now. Whatever.
Time passes. I watched the computer tick by the seconds. It's agonizing, but I've lived with agony for the last two years. I hope the script I wrote brings me release.
Something about the way I'm breathing feels off. I was huffing over my computer just before now, the excited gasps of one hoping to be the 'one' tonight. But now... it's getting a lot harder...
I check my credit union account. No change. It's getting a lot harder to breath.
I can't breath.
At last. At last. | By the way Gwen and I reacted to our new buttons, you'd think that we were little girls. Really, we were sixteen, old enough to finally own a Money Button. Both of our parents thought that the buttons were far too dangerous, but that didn't take the thrill away, and certainly didn't stop them from coming in the mail. Nobody new who sent them--rumor has it that it was President Owens himself--but then again nobody really cared enough to find out. The buttons granted large amounts of money into our bank accounts every night, and that's all we needed to know. Oh, and it murdered the first person who pressed it every night, but what were the chances of that happening to me? There were a lot of people in the world, I didn't need to worry.
Gwen and I ran around the house like psychos, screaming with joy over our Money Buttons. "We're going to be rich!" Gwen exclaimed, giving the button a big kiss. "We'll be richer than Bill Gates!" I shouted out the window for our neighbor's snooty cat to hear.
---
It was 10:01 p.m., the Money Button's starting time. I went to press my button, but Gwen stopped me quickly. "You don't want to be the first person!" She reminded me. "Let's just wait a little bit."
Of course. Anyone reasonable would know that it wasn't a good idea to press it right away, but then again, the earlier you pressed it, the more money you got. "When can we do it?" I asked impatiently. "I don't want all the good amounts to get taken up."
"Just wait," she said, but I could see my own excitedness in her nervous smile.
---
We waited hour after hour until finally I grew too impatient to wait any longer. By now, all the good amounts were taken up for sure. So when Gwen got up to go to the bathroom, I pressed my button quickly, excited to see the new amount.
But something didn't feel right. I pulled out my phone anxiously, checking the number in my account.
To my joy, the number of zeros went up, and up, and up, until finally it stopped at $456,000,000. I let out a little happy scream, not believing my eyes. Was I really a millionaire, all from one press of a button?
"GWEN! COME LOOK!"
Gwen didn't say anything, so I waited just a bit, re-checking my phone, just to make sure it really happened.
"Gwen you have to see this!"
She really was taking a long time, but perhaps I was just impatient. After a few minutes had passed, I ran/skipped down the hallway towards the bathroom. The door was cracked, letting a bit of light into the dim hall. "Gwendolynnn!" I sang, barging in the door.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw her. She was holding a toothbrush up like a knife, a fierce look in her eyes. "Gwen, what are you doing?" I laughed nervously. She had to be joking.
"Congratulations, Rebecca Arnold," she said in a voice that wasn't hers. "You were the first presser of the night of March 22nd." | 2016-07-16T19:30:28 | 2016-07-16T19:05:24 | 113 | 29 |
[WP] (drops weapon) "Shit. I just realized something." "What?" "We're the bad guys....." | "So let me get this straight. You think we're the bad guys. Like 'we're' as in you and I?"
"Exactly!"
"I apologize for playing devil's advocate here, but would a bad guy do this?"
Bad Guy 2 pushes old woman into on coming traffic
"Yes! A bad guy would 100% do that."
"Really!? Really!? Well would a bad guy do this?"
Bad Guy 2 punches a baby in the face
"Again, yes, yes they would. Look, this is just as new of an idea for me as it is for you."
"Ok, ok, ok. If we have indeed assumed feloniously that we we're the good guys our entire adult life, which mind you I'm still not 100% sure of, what do we do as penance?"
"Bingo. We become priests!"
"Now again, I really hate to play Devil's advocate here, especially with you new found career aspirations as the middle man between God and civilization buttttt when you say priests you are referring to the same folks that molested kids and swept it under the rug, correct?"
"The very ones!"
"And the same ones that have forced people from their homes in the name of God and murdered sinners for being sinners?"
"Absolutely right"
"Ya know, I don't think I have the heart to be a good guy."
| The Fox News director screamed into his headset, "Get him off the air! Get him off the Goddamn air!"
"Did he just say, 'we're the bad guys?" one of the interns whispered to the 2nd AD in a high gossipy tone.
"Yep."
"Hol-y shit. Hol-y motherfucking sh-t," she said whipping out her phone to tweet.
REILLY IS LOSING HIS SHIT. #TheApocalypse #Ineedanewinternship.
Bill O'reilly leaned into the camera, loosened his tie, and threw the stack of blank papers behind him, "There's nothing on those by the way. They're just for show."
"Why are you all just standing there?" The New's director yanked on chord after chord to kill the feed, but it stayed live. "Is this a joke?"
The crew sat riveted.
Bill tilted up his chin and continued his heart to heart with the audience.
"We're the bad guys because, for two decades now, we shoveled some of the most vile, nonsensical, one-sided, rhetoric ever of any news channel, on any network, since I've been alive on God's green earth.
I thought the end justified the means. But with the election of a president who is a classless, blowhard, materialist, bonehead, who doesn't give a rip about this country or American values, I can see now we played a part. The biggest part."
The News director swung the door open and barreled toward the set. "Are you people possessed?"
He shoved one cameraman out of the way, and knocked over his camera. It shattered on the sound stage. Then he did the same to another, then another, until all four cameras sat smashed on the ground. Then he stood up and sighed with relief... until looked up in 360 degree slow motion and saw all the crew members, and all the visitors, and all the talent, pointing their cell phones at O'Reilly. "Mother of God."
"Fox News doesn't give a shit about the folks," Bill continued. "I'm too old and rich now to pretend they do. So I'm out. My buddy Jon Stewart and I are launching a new network. THECENTER. Centrist, online, open source. And we're going to put an end to the kind of divisive nonsense that elected this orange-haired moron to office. Tune in. And by the way Rupert, I hired the crew. You can sue, but I know where the bodies are buried." Bill looked into the nearest cell phone camera and winked. "Buried, of course, is a figure of speech." | 2016-07-19T22:59:48 | 2016-07-19T22:45:47 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You are able to see the number of days a person has left to live above their heads. For the first time in your life, you see someone with a negative number. | Bob is a goner.
I think the whole office suspects. The noticeable weight loss, thinning hair and increased absences are impossible to ignore. They suspect, but I know.
He shows up Monday looking capable by his new standard and sickly by his old with a large "92" floating above his head in neon blue lettering, the kind seen at night above Times Square. By Friday he putters out, disheveled and worn, the number now an "88." I'm tempted to leave him alone. I may not have to bother with a decision, in any case.
Margo is pushing 20,000, and I hate her for it. To be more precise, I hate Margo for Margo, and the 70-aught years she has left just dresses the cake. You know that kid in primary school who reminded the teacher to assign homework? Yeah, she grew up and decided to work in accounting. If I grab an extra sheet of Post-It notes, I can expect a visit and quarter-hour lecture the next day. Since she has the personality of a beached wet sock, I'm thinking of a sort of Post-It note related affair. Are they digestible?
Jeremy is our boss. He isn't a bad bloke, but he doesn't look to make it past 50. It's hardly surprising given his daily McDonald's lunch buffet and pharmaceutical cocktails that he pops throughout the day. For a middle-ager who has resigned his professional fate to telemarketing manager, I could have asked for worse. He mostly leaves us alone unless our quotas are in free fall. I feel a bit bad for him. He doesn't really deserve this.
Reynold. Oh, Reynold. The lizard-faced, slimy bugger who visits our suffocated cubicle fortress once a month to audit our sales. He has scales. I swear, that bumpy ridge of vertebrae that poke out of his dress shirt are just tucked away for show. He plans to live until his 76th year and 82nd day. I did the math, precisely, because I want to marinate in the time he will lose. There is no pleasure without pain, no rejoicing without suffering.
It's Friday evening now and I am content for the moment. I have made progress, to be certain. She sits in the center of my living room, arms perched on her old rocking chair like a queen, waiting to be reborn. To a lesser man, the salves and prayers and furry sacrifices would seem to be ineffective, as her features only continue to wizen. Contrary evidence is available only to me, as a flashing "-142" appears where last week it was pushing "-160."
We will be together again soon, mother. | He was quite well-dressed, in a sleek black suit with a lovely purple pocket square. He *looked*, at first glance, to be doing quite well for himself. Slick hair, shiny shoes, gold cuffs.
As I came a bit closer, however, I noticed that his color was a bit...off. He was a yellowish sort of color, somewhere between a vibrant tan and a complete lack of blood. His skin, when you looked at it, had a waxy sort of finish, like a coffee table cheaply varnished.
Of course, when you got close enough to speak, you could see clearly enough the puttied-up hole in-between his eyes. If you didn't look close, you might think it was simply an unfortunately large pockmark, or a childhood indentation. But no, it was quite clearly a hole that had been filled in and covered over in the same unflattering shade of yellow.
"Can I start you off with something to drink?" I asked the man. *He's fresh out the hospital*, I told myself. *Nasty accident. Cheap plastic surgery. Best not to stare.*
The man smiled, or at least attempted it. His face didn't quite seem to have the necessary elasticity. Or perhaps the muscles were compromised. Plastic surgery will do that, I'm told.
"ooffeee eeaasee," he mumbled through an unaccommodating mouth.
"Coffee. Yes sir," I replied brightly.
As I made to leave, however, I paused a moment to look at the man.
To be a good waiter you must know when and where your attention ought go. There are things you must see and remember, and things you are must better off ignoring and pretending you have not seen.
A customer's Number is something you learn quite early on to ignore. It is not something anyone wishes to think about, and certainly not while they are out, attempting to enjoy a meal. So you train yourself to not see the Number. After all, what good will it do you, to know such a thing? They are already keenly aware, and it does no one any good to treat someone differently simply because their Number is a bit too low for social comfort.
This is to say that I don't normally *see* someone's Number, but the man, with his stiff manner and waxy, doll skin was such an odd sight, that I could not help but take a second look.
At first, I felt sorrow.
*2*
Two days left to live? What torture had this man already experienced? And now the end was nearly at hand?
But no. It did not say *2*.
*-2*
I looked at the man again, aware of how unprofessional I was being. If the man were capable of raising his eyebrows, I'm certain he would have.
"eesss?"
"Sir," I said, slowly, cautiously. "I mean no offense, *but*...are you aware of your Number?"
"uummm?" The man's mouth creaked open a bit further. I could see that the gums had begun to recede, creating a ridge of flared, yellow skeleton teeth. A bitter, chemical scent rode out on his hissing exhale.
"Sir...are you supposed to be dead?"
The mouth hung open as he considered this, glancing down at his good cuff links and fine, purple pocket square.
"oohhh," he gurgled. "ooooppss." He pulled himself up from the table then, joints grinding loudly as he straightened to a standing position. "no oooffeeee, aannkks."
"Certainly," I replied. "Do you...can I call you a cab?"
The man shook his head very slightly and very slowly. "aalllkkk."
Then he walked away, very slowly, but with a kind of straight-backed dignity that even death itself cannot unlearn. As I watched him go a woman at a nearby table snapped her fingers at me. Her Number was 10,869. I ignored her and went on my break. | 2016-09-02T08:36:34 | 2016-09-02T08:31:46 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] It is the 24 th of july, your birthday, and also the day that humanity is going to reach 10 billion inhabitants. You are watching the number grow, live on a site. Just as it's about to hit 10 billion, at 9,999,999,999... It Hits 2. You are still alive. | I watch the counter, eagerly. Humanity had struggled a lot, and we were finally about to hit a major checkpoint. And I had the satisfaction of being a part of it. I sat back at my desk and chuckled to myself as I took a sip of coffee.
Dale looked over to me. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Just glad to finally be getting some publicity. Nobody cared about this counter when it was at 8 billion 324 million or something. Thanks to modern medicine, though, something I coded is finally being viewed by, well..." I checked the counter. "9 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand, 957 people, minus babies and people without internet."
"Sure is something, eh?" said Dale, grinning.
"Sure is," I said, looking over at the counter. The number was steadily gaining...989, 990, 991...
"Hey, Steve," said Dale. "This may not be a good time, but I gotta ask..."
"Yeah?", I replied.
"You programmed something in to deal with overflow, right?"
Over-oh god dammit. I look at the screen, dreading what I'm about to see.
2
"Well, we can always blame frontend." | I sit down in my recliner with my coffe and turn on the news. It's still early in the morning, my zen hour, I have the whole apartment to myself. The talking heads are all yammering on about the same thing today, population statistics. Each one discussing the geopolitical impact of humanity's expansion out of control. In the bottom right corner where they always place event count down clock is a population counter. Using an algorithm and technology with a name straight from star trek, it supposedly heralds the future in statistical probability prediction software. I'm only paying half attention when the screen flashes with a breaking news screen and the number 10,000,000,000 in bold letters scrolls across the screen for just a moment, and then drops to 2 and the screen stays that way. I figure that there must be technical difficulties at the studio, so I change channels. An empty studio, I switch again....empty. I go to a morning talk show.....nothing. Live channel after channel and nothing. I turn to call towards the bedrooms when the silence is shattered by a caucaphony of crashes and explosions outside. I run to the window overlooking the street and I see rising pile of vehicles colliding at the nearby intersection. I stare on in horror when a fireball erupts in the distance. I can't get a good view on it but i hear similar explosions in the distance.
"HONEY!" I scream and tear off down the hall. I almost knock the door off its hinges and look down at the small bed......empty. I look across the room at the crib.....NOTHING!
"HONEY!" I scream again and run further down the hall into our room. In hear the shower.
"H-HONEY!?" I yell breathlessly as I open the bathroom door......empty.
I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe.
I burst through the apartment door and make my way to the stairs and run to the roof. I run out on to the roof and the sound of the city is deafening. The crunch of metal is dieing off, only to be replaced by the occasional scream of turbine engines and explosion of jet liners. I look towards the airport and see planes that were on approach wildly banking and slamming into the cityscape. I walk to the edge and look down onto the streets....no one.... I scan across the roof tops..... no one......i hear no sirens, no screams, no people. I look down onto the street again.....
"honey" I whisper and lean forward.
Edit: some spelling correction. | 2017-02-28T20:44:47 | 2017-02-28T18:37:38 | 581 | 58 |
[WP] Deep beneath the trenches of WW1, there is a hidden tavern run by soldiers, for soldiers of both sides.
I submitted something similar a few months back. Hoping for a few more responses to read :) | An hour. Sixty minutes. Sixty short minutes and then back we go. Back up top. Back to the slaughter. Fifty-nine minutes. A couple of Gerry troops slouch over an old trench frame that now stands as a makeshift bar. I wonder if it’s from one of theirs or one of ours, but it doesn’t matter I suppose. The Down Below, we call it. And the only rule here is there is no ours or theirs; no us and them.
A young lad from my company rests with a small wooden pipe jutting from his cracked lips, his eyes creaking shut as the tankard of beer quietly fizzes in his hand. There’s a song coming from somewhere; a drunken mix of German and English voices, the singers as swaying and uneasy as the melody.
Forty minutes. In Forty minutes the whistles will blow and up we’ll go and down we’ll go. The two at the bar will be dead, I’ll be dead, and the voices that trip through the darkness at the back of the Down Below will be silent forever. If not this time, then another. I take a long drink of my beer. It was Gerry’s turn to bring the beer this time, happily. I savour the intense flavour for a while, then finish the bottle. Time for another. Just time for one more. I walk through the mud to the makeshift bar. The two German soldiers turn to me with a look that seems both vacant and ponderous.
“Twenty minutes, English.” One says.
“Twenty minutes.” I reply.
He raises his glass slightly and nods.
“Prost.”
“Cheers.” I say in return and our glasses clink dully in the darkness. I take a sip from my beer and walk back to my table. I see the young lad. He’s fast asleep and snoring in low, steady snorts, and his pipe dangles from his lip and wobbles with each breath. He looks like what I know he’ll never be; an old man.
Ten minutes. A new song starts up from some unseen corner. I sip my beer and close my eyes. Ten long minutes. | Blood and tears were flung across the battleground as screams of both fear and intimidation rang in the ears of the soldiers. Chaos seemed to be raining down, a fitting similarity to the storm that ravaged the fields that they were fighting upon...
Winston had just sat onto his favourite seat in the bar, it was made from the finest mahogany and coupled with pristine leather. Slowly, he sipped the sweet cider that he had grasped in his half-bloodied hand, the barman turned and, noticing the emptiness of the glass, asked if he wished another drink. Of course, he swiftly replied with a yes. Indeed, the relaxing atmosphere of the cozy bar was in stark contrast with the horrors faced above; one would have to concentrate to hear a single blast.
Across from him sat two lieutenants, they seemed to be quarreling about one unimportant matter or another. By the look of their tattered outfits and the gleams of anger in their eye, they had most likely been in a shootout with each other but mere minutes before. Nonetheless, Winston didn't let it get the most of him. After all, he had come here to escape the worries of the war, not bathe in them.
He was luckier than most, he'd heard about the bar only a few weeks into his conscription, it had taken others months and the majority had gone without noticing it at all. Then again, what sane mind would journey to the center of No Man's Land in the first place?
Bored, he glanced at the broken pocket-watch that he had kept by his side, within it was a picture of the one woman he loved. The feeling of a tear dropping down his face wasn't unknown to him so he decided to ignore it as he continued to sip his drink. Suddenly, a loud crack of glass turned his attention to the center of the bar. The two lieutenants were brawling. He couldn't say that he was shocked, these things were bound to happen when you allowed rival soldiers to share a drink. Anyway, he knew that the managers would soon put an end to it, the lack of fighting was the only rule of the establishment and it must be followed at all times.
Something wasn't right. It should've ended by now, he thought as they carried on beating one another. The taller man, who seemed to be in the prime of his twenties, had just hit the other one directly in the face with the full force of his muscular arm. Where were the managers? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. This couldn't be happening. Surely not. The once distant bangs had grown closer and made his ears ring with pain. The door flew open as a stampede of soldiers stormed in. He had but a moment to watch as the limbs of the fellow bar patrons glided across the room. The ringing stopped. It took him a few seconds to realise that it was due to the fact that he was missing both of his ears. He was missing quite a lot more than that, in fact.
Cold ran through his body, followed by a sudden flow of the most marvelous heat. He opened his eyes for what felt like the final time and was met the glaze of the Summer sun shining upon a battlefield. He knew that the young ones spoke of visions before death, but he had not realised that this was what they meant... | 2017-05-22T12:58:42 | 2017-05-22T12:47:32 | 56 | 15 |
[WP] You've been convicted of 1st degree murder, and (as is customary in society) are sentenced to "death by black-hole." You expect death as your capsule approaches the event horizon. After crossing, everything goes silent, until you hear someone say "Sir, I've found another one." | I didn't have any tears left.
I had spent them all on the dead. On the sick. The court didn't believe me. How could they? A disease only I can see...
So here I am. Drifting towards the black hole. The judge laughed when I was sentenced. Spoke of the unimaginable pain I would feel as my body was slowly stretched out..
And yet...
I felt *nothing*.
Further and further away the light of the stars slipped. My surroundings grew so black I could no longer tell whether my eyes were open or closed.
And then...
A light.
Closer and closer it came. The hand of God. Yet as it approached my confused eyes managed to decipher that it was... A ship. With a human in it.
A great, powerful light emanated from the ship and I felt myself being dragged towards it. Ironically, this is what I expected from the *actual* black hole.
The light sucked me into the ship, and my eyes were temporarily blinded as I struggled to adjust to my new surroundings.
I heard a voice.
"Sir. I've found another one." The voice was grisly, yet not unkind.
My eyes started to make out the figure of the human. He turned towards me, moving forward with an object. I saw the truth. He had the sickness.
"No!" I screamed, scrambling back.
He gasped in surprise, speaking quickly in communicator.
"Affirmative, Sir."
"We have found a Seer."
***
Will write a part two if this gets enough interest!
Edit: Part Two is up below or [Here!](https://redd.it/6n7zvq)
(apologies p2 is a bit short, its 2am! wanted to get it out though the support was amazing <3. Will get a good amount up tomorrow!)
Enjoy the writing and would like to follow along and see more stories? Check out [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)
| They called it a "gentle" death.
I laughed mirthlessly. People will tell that to themselves to console them, reassure each other what they're doing isn't barbaric. Sagittarius A had a gentle singularity - I would get crushed so quickly by the rapid change in gravity that I wouldn't even feel it.
Quite the comfort.
Sagittarius itself was supposed to be beautiful, a dark void surrounded by bands of what looked like fire from a distance - matter and light revolving around at increasingly fast speeds until it eventually succumbed to the beast that was to be my killer.
I didn't look. hell if I was giving them the satisfaction of thinking that I had any sort of comfort in this death. No, I would take no comfort in this death, so I stared directly at the back wall of my sphere, my back against the transparent part.
After an eternity, the pod began to shake violently, so violently in fact that it seemed the pod would rip itself apart. I swallowed, the fear kicking in now, a cold deep rooted fear that is instinctual to humans, that is beyond our control.
Gentle, my ass.
I closed my eyes, just waiting, and then suddenly it stopped. Everything. The noise, the rattling, the flashing fiery lights.
"Sir, we've found another one."
That made me turn around and finally look out the glass. And I was not out in space, going into the maw of a black hole. I was in a field, grass swaying gently in the wind, and the sun shining in the sky, no. *Suns,* two of them shone in the sky.
Well, three if you counted the angel in front of me. She had long blond hair that fell all the way to the ground, and she cocked her head and stared at me with those sparkling blue eyes.
Then the guy came. Where she was an angel, the guy looked like a drill sergeant from hell. He wore a tank top, had bulging muscles, and one of those faces that always seemed like it was scowling.
"Another piece of trash they've sent us," he said and spat on the ground.
"What-?" the angel began, but the drill sergeant waved her off.
"I really don't care, Moraine," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he walked away, "feed him to something maybe."
I thought he was joking, but the angel, Moraine, bit her lip as if considering it.
Just my goddam luck. I opened my mouth to say something, but Moraine burst out laughing, a delighted laugh that could make people weep or break into dance. Moraine, shook her head, and stopped laughing after a minute or so. "Let's get you out of there," she said, and with a wave of her hand the front half of the capsule just...fell apart, crumbled.
I could only gape at her as she helped me out of my pod. I didn't what this was, a dream, hallucination, simulation, or an afterlife.
But it sure as hell beat dying "gently."
***
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) for more of my work | 2017-07-13T19:24:15 | 2017-07-13T19:17:32 | 225 | 80 |
[WP] You've been convicted of 1st degree murder, and (as is customary in society) are sentenced to "death by black-hole." You expect death as your capsule approaches the event horizon. After crossing, everything goes silent, until you hear someone say "Sir, I've found another one." | My capsule hurtled toward a black hole and all I could do was wait. I couldn't move much in my sophisticated coffin as I waited to be buried deep in a hole in space. But at least I had a little window to peak at the stars as I plummeted to my doom. It's the little things.
Death by Black Hole. That was the sentence for 1st degree murder. I could tell you how remorseful I felt and how regretful I was for what I'd done while I made my way to obliteration, but no, all I could think about was how my body would be turned into a noodle once I got there. Spaghettification, I think they called it. My stomach rumbled. I was a bit peckish, too.
I couldn't determine exactly how long I'd been lying in my casket, but it felt like days. My body was cramped and aching. I was feeling claustrophobic. I would kill to have a bit of a stretch.
More time had passed and I was getting anxious. I was truly on my way to die. And one would think with such complex machinery at least a beeping or a ticking would be heard from somewhere in my deathbed. I listened... to nothing. Utter silence. I muttered to myself to drown out the quiet.
"Don't crack. They want you to crack. It's torture. It's mind games."
For every new cramp or soreness, I thought it was the end. I thought I would be torn apart. I thought it over and over again. It was driving me mad. I began to panic, screaming and cursing, thrashing around in what little room I had.
I had started to feel dizzy and stopped my fit abruptly. It was hard to breathe in this god forsaken coffin. I was drenched in sweat as I breathed heavily, attempting to gather my wits. And then I felt it. The black hole.
At least I thought I had. Weren't my legs being pulled? For a split second hadn't my whole body been stretched and strained like a rubber band? It was as if I snapped back instead of being snapped apart. I wondered if I had imagined it. Had I lost my mind? I could hear something. I could hear someone! I shouted from within my confines.
"Help! Help! Please set me free! I'm sorry I did it, please," I cried.
A man walked by my little window. Walked? How was it possible? He jerked his head toward my direction. I was terrified. It didn't make sense. I could hear him now, but very muffled.
"Sir, I've found another one," he said.
He looked familiar. I'd seen this man before. There was a sickness in my stomach as I came to realize just who it was.
"You're lucky you caught that one, would've been my ass, too," said another voice. "Hurry up and launch him."
My executioners. Not again. No. Please.
I shouted and begged to no avail. I was launched into space once more. My capsule hurtled toward a black hole and all I could do was wait.
| "We find the defendant guilty, on all charges your honor." The foreman sat back down, her eyes flickered to me, a brief look of satisfaction crossing her face.
I laughed and shook my head. They had asked us to join their collective governance, but the reality was; we Terrans had signed away our freedoms and rights in complex merger treaties that we had no idea of the complexity or details of. Earth had simply agreed to being annexed by the Devanite Empire. Now, if a human went anywhere off-planet and got arrested for even the smallest thing, the charges would be blown out of proportion, and any recent unsolved crimes would be added on. We savages were obviously to blame for the ills of the Empire, right? I mean, we were so backwards, we actually fucked to reproduce rather than using birthing pods, and not to mention that we were so primitive, we still had hair. Sickening, right?
Three women turn up dead in the month my ship is in dock and since I was "out of control, using mind altering and intoxicating substances" obviously, I was a murderous night stalker. I spent a week's wages to import an actual bottle of terran-made beer, and this was the result. Fuck, I hated these yellow-skinned bastards, almost as much as they hated me.
Retrial? Mistrial? Appeal? Ha! Not for humans. A week later, and I'm sitting in my pod, strapped into the seat, my only view, the hellish singularity known as Muscae. The singularity itself is invisible, but watching the nothingness tear the upper gaseous layer off its companion star and just wink away into nothingness. Another batch of criminals, off to our "compassionate" justice, launched to our deaths in an automated barge, so none of the more evolved citizens of the empire should ever feel guilt or remorse. This was the way of the "pacifist" Devanites.
The small speaker crackled to life, and the red light came on, showing me the camera above my view was live. "Do you have any last words? A confession? An apology to the families of those you wronged?"
I spat at the camera. "Fuck you. I'm innocent. I hope..."
"Nothing of value, then." The camera cut off and the pod went silent. Moments later there was a sudden jolt of thrust and I could only feel my anger and rage build as the blackness grew closer. This was their compassionate solution? I'd spend the next three days hurling at the blackness, unable to move, only able to look at my oncoming death. The rumble, the cracks in the pod, the cold rush of vacuum as the atmosphere dissipated, the ever present damming silence as my existence went black.
"Sir, I've found another one." The technician gave me worried smile as she took off the headset and display visor. "Another of these knowledge implantation translators locked up." She handed me a bottle of water and a protein bar. "I'm so sorry Ambassador Stewart. Trying to use this Devanite mind-tech is still a little quirky."
The yellow-skinned Devanite envoy came over to me and spoke in the stilted English he knew. "Does head hurt, hu-man Stewart?"
I waved him off, the images and experience still fresh and raw. "I am fine Councilor Qua-Shee."
The Devanite technician came and took the headset from the woman who woke me. He then hissed to the Councilor in his native tongue. "This is the third set manufactured on Mogur-4. Those furbags can't seem to do anything right." I sighed and closed my eyes to hide the recognition that I had understood him.
Mogur-4 was home to a race of beings that looked like humanoid chinchillas. They had been the last race added to the empire for nearly a century before Earth was approached. The captain of my ship when I had been arrested had been a Mogurian, and he had been rather frank in how bad he felt for humanity joining. Had this glitch been a purposeful plant, like the scrawled notes of ancient times people would find in goods made in slave camps? Was this a warning?
I snatched the headset from the tech. Perhaps our own technicians could answer this for certain. The councilor would have far more to explain before Earth would agree to anything, and if I had anything to do with it, autonomy was our only answer.
| 2017-07-14T01:41:48 | 2017-07-13T23:43:40 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You are a semi truck driver with a hands free device. You receive a call from a telemarketer in the morning. He can't hang up on you, and little does he know that you're perfectly willing to talk to him all day long. | There is a section of Highway 24 which winds through a forested area. There are tall elms on both sides, so thick that the advertisers couldn't figure out how to fit the billboards in. The local teenagers like to drive there for some privacy, and from time to time we get calls about drunken revellers setting off firecrackers there.
I was one of the last few to arrive that evening. The sun had long set, but the trees were ablaze with the glow from the five or six emergency vehicles. The injured had already been extricated from their vehicles, sent on their way to the hospital, and the workers were already starting to tow away the wreckage.
All that was left to do, was to interview the first responder.
"Son," I said, as he huddled under his blanket, shivering despite the moist, muggy air. "I've got a few questions for you, that ok with you? Brandon Tavers, right?"
"Sure."
"Now, I want to say first that you have the thanks of the entire Rightshire Police Department. Them folks would never had made it if you had not chanced upon them and called them in. Not many people come out to this part of the woods this time of year."
"No problem."
"... But Brandon, and now I've got to ask you this. Did you know you were driving under the influence? My deputies, they said you failed the breathylser tests. You been drinking and driving?"
Most people, innocent or not, shift uncomfortably when I start going down this line of questioning. Brandon, however, merely stared back at me, not confrontationally in the way a street thug would, but in resignation, like a golden retriever who's been caught with his paw in the cookie jar.
"Yes sir, I had been drinking some."
"Thank you for your honesty, Brandon. Now, do you also want to tell me about the Colt .45 they found chambered on the passenger's seat in your truck? Anything about that you want to let me know?"
The answer came a bit more slowly this time.
"I... I was going to kill myself, sir. At the end of today."
I tried to keep the surprise from lifting my eyebrows. It was never a good idea to let them know how much their answers were affecting you.
"That your final answer, son? And you weren't, perhaps, going to use the gun on anyone you came across here?"
"No, sir. I wouldn't have saved them otherwise. Are they fine? Did they make it?"
"We'll get to that. Now, we've called your company, and they said you shouldn't even be here on this Highway. Your route, it seems, was right through this town and onwards, all the past state lines. You mind telling me how it is that you ended up here?"
Brandon looked down at his palms, and I could see where his nails had torn off, where the blood streaked past his wrists. The medics assured me that Brandon was fine, and that he had probably just injured himself when he tried to pry the car crash victims from their iron cages.
"I... I will tell you, sir, but I don't think you will believe me."
"Try me," I said.
"I... I got a call earlier this afternoon. I was on my route, driving, just listening to some tunes on the radio, when I got this call."
"Were you already drinking then?"
"Yes, yes I was. Just a shot or two, to help me think."
"Think about what?"
"About ending my life, sir. Ending it today, after my run was complete."
I wanted to interject, but found I did not know what to say, so instead I waited for him to continue.
"I had thought about it for some time. I would finish this last assignment, turn in my keys, take my last pay cheque, maybe knock back another bottle or two, then go off to this cabin that I have and end it there."
"Why you got to end your life, son?" I asked. "Women troubles?"
Brandon managed a soft laugh. "Ain't there been any women in my life for some time now, sir. It's just that... There hasn't been meaning for a while. Just long, empty roads ahead of me, just myself, myself and the truck, cruising endlessly to nowhere. I thought I had seen all that I wanted."
"You said something about a call this afternoon?"
"I did. When I picked up, the guy on the other side, he asked if I had some time to speak, cause there was an offer I might be interested in. And I laughed, I did, I laughed. I said, sure I've got the whole damn day! I thought, no one ever wants to talk to Brandon unless it was to sell me something or get me to do something for them, but it sure the heck beats just talking to myself, right?"
"What was this guy selling?"
"He... He didn't say, not at first. Just like, asked questions about me. What my name was, where I lived, what I liked to do... and then, after an hour or so, I realised I was enjoying myself. I imagined that he must have been growing frustrated, cause he wasn't getting any closer to me buying anything he might have, and that... That made me happy in a way."
I could empathize with this, and so I said, "Must have felt like you were giving him a great big middle finger, huh?"
"Yeah, yeah, that's it. But he was patient, and he just kept... Talking, you know? And it must have been some time later, cause the sun was starting to get in my eyes, then he said... He said, Brandon Tavers, I'm ready to sell you what I have."
"Travel package?" I asked.
"Nope. He said... He said he wanted to sell me hope."
I heard vague shouting in the background as the last of the wreckage was pulled away. One of my deputies started walking up to us, but I held my hand out, kept him away.
"Hope, you say?"
"That's what he said. Hope. He said he knew about the gun by my side. He said he knew I was waiting inside, waiting to see if anyone would talk to me proper today, like they was really interested in me. He said that he could see it all. And he said, why not we do this, Brandon. I'll sell you a bit of hope, for a very low price, and it's something you can definitely afford."
"What did he ask for?"
Brandon pointed then to the patchwork of trees, scarred and blackened by the fires which scorched them earlier, the last of the gasoline from the broken cars.
"He said, just take a detour, the left fork, down to this Highway. He said to travel for a couple more miles, till I got in this forest. And then if I would take the time to get out of my truck, do what was expected, then that was the price right there. He said payment would be received by that act alone, and he would deliver immediately."
I looked down at the notes I had been scribbling, then flipped back a few pages to the reports my deputies had given me. Sparse details for this early stage in the investigation, but the picture was clear enough. There was no doubt that without Brandon Tavers' intervention, no one would have discovered the accident until it was too late.
"How are you feeling now, son?" I asked.
Brandon looked back at me, and he smiled again. There was a certain peace and calm in his eyes, framed by the myriad wrinkles, which I thought he had not felt in a very long time.
"Hopeful," he said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| It's not too bad a job. Of course, the majority of my time I'm on the road, but you know, the views can be good. Sometimes. I guess it mostly is a drag going back and forth from Orlando to Seattle as many times as they can squeeze out of me in a year. But the money's good, I guess, and I don't spend much so I'm saving at quite a good rate.
There are different ways I keep myself entertained. There's certainly the radio to listen to—news, sports, music, whatever the topic, though I'm not into politics that much—but I'll also pop in a podcast or audiobook once in a while. Sometimes I'll make a game out of the sights I see, like I'll imagine Spider-Man swinging from one high-mast light pole to the next. Or I'll see a skateboarder cruising alongside me, jumping up to grind on the highway divider and popping a kickflip every once in a while. You know, whatever to keep my mind occupied.
I tend not to think of my personal life too much. I mean, aside from retirement. Maybe seven more years on the job before I'll have saved enough to move to an island in Polynesia and retreat away to relax all day. What I really try not to think of is my wife. Ex-wife, really. The bitc—err, I told myself not to get worked up about it. I don't think straight, I don't see straight when I get angry. So, the "woman" has refused to sign our divorce papers despite us going on three years of separation now. She stripped me of the life I had. My friends gone, the money I had saved until then gone, and she spent most of it on a hideously ugly hot pink Range Rover, my own family doesn't like me anymore for bringing that disaster wreck into their lives, but I try not to dwell on Suzanne. That bit—no, no. Calm yourself.
I'd been on the road for near 180 miles already today, having gone through two weigh stations. The next stretch was a dead empty one of which I am all too familiar with given the countless times I've done this route. Yet, for some reason, it always seems to take longer than I remember it taking.
*Ring ring*
"Hello?"
"Hey there, am I speaking with Mr. Wilson?"
Suzanne kept my last name. God, I really hated her. No, don't think about it. Control yourself.
"Yeah that's me, who's this?"
"Hey there Mr. Wilson, my name is Angela and I'm calling you on behalf of Quilter Heat Systems, providing the number one ranked home insulation service in the country. How are you today?"
I sighed. More of life's crap being fed to me. "I'm good. Hey listen, I can't talk right now, sorry about—"
"Please Mr. Wilson, I'll just take a moment of your time if you can spare that."
I mean, what better did I have to do, really? Might as well.
"Sure yeah, I guess I've got a couple of minutes."
"Great thank you Mr. Wilson. So as I mentioned we are then number one ranked home insulation service in the country. Thanks to our patented Thermal-Tech system, we can ensure that your lovely Colorado home maintains heat in the winter and keeps you cool in the summer! How's that sound?"
Sounded terrible, to be frank. Suzanne had the house. I moved to a tiny rental in Florida, what good would insulation do for me out there?
"Yeah, sounds great." She had a soothing voice. It was rather pleasant to listen to as I drove down this long, abnormally straight shot road. Was nearly passing by what was once home, as a matter of fact. I didn't like Colorado much nowadays, who would've guessed.
"Excellent! So we've two different packages, the basic and the premium. Now I know the premium runs a little pricer of the two but it's really worth the value. You see, there are three main perks for going with the premium package..." She rattled on for a few minutes. I didn't much care to take in the details, just hearing her talk was almost meditative for me.
"Mr. Wilson? Mr. Wilson, you there?"
"Hey yeah, sorry. How about the basic package? What do I get with that?"
She spoke again for another minute or so which meant another minute or so of peace as I cruised down the road. I wasn't even bothered by the only other vehicle I saw on the road, a little Prius I had cut off several miles back and who was now out seeking revenge.
"Cool, gotcha. And the premium package is better how?"
"Uhh, Mr. Wilson, it has the three perks I mentioned before. I can go over them again with you if you'd like?"
"Sure, let's do that." It'd hardly been fifteen minutes that we were chatting but I kind of started to grow fond of Angela, you know?
"So Mr. Wilson, which package would you prefer? All we'll need is your credit card information to have on file but you won't be charged for the first 30 days after installation as I mentioned and for the year after that if at any point you're not satisfied we have a full money back guarantee."
"Angela, don't call me Mr. Wilson. I don't much like my last name, you know? You can call me Jim."
"Um, sure Mr. Wi—Jim. I can call you Jim. So Jim which package would you prefer?"
"You have any kids, Angela?"
I always wanted a kid. A little boy. Maybe two kids would be nice. Boy and girl, you know.
"Sorry Jim, I can't talk about that! I'm interested to hear which of our packages you find more appealing?"
"You've got a motherly voice. Probably a daughter? I can hear it in your voice. You know, I always wanted a kid. Suzanne though, she's my wife, she never—"
"Hey Jim, sorry, was wondering which package you'd—"
"She never wanted any, you know? She always thought it'd be too much of an investment of our money, or her money really as it seemed she was the one always spending. It's not all about the money though, you know? Sometimes life is a little more than that, it's about relationships. I think I want to save up and move to an island when I retire but you know, it's the relationships I really want to cherish before I go. You know, like you and I, this is a relationship."
"Yeah Jim, I can see that. It's a professional relationship. So I'm just wondering if you'd like to pick a package now or I could call back another time if that works better for you."
"Could you tell me about the premium package?"
"Again?" She paused as there was chatter in the background of the call, I could hear. "Um, sure, Jim, so the three main perks are..."
You have got to be kidding me. You know, for the first time in a while I was actually enjoying my drive but who other than a disgustingly hot pink Range Rover would have to pop through the on-ramp right in front of me? You're kidding me!
My heart was racing. My blood was boiling. All I was surrounded by was the emptiness of the desert mountains around me, the bridge up ahead, and this nasty chewed up bubble gum up on the nose of my truck. I hated Suzanne. I could feel the anger building up, I could feel the tension in my neck. I wanted it to stop but how could I with this blinding view in front of me? Not today. Today was a good day. I'm not dealing with this today. I moved over to the fast lane and put the pedal to the metal. I do not want to see this today. I'd pass her, pull off at the next rest stop, and have some Subway. That's what I'll do. I'll have Subway. I started picking up some speed as we drove onto the bridge.
Angela spoke again with an eagerness of finality in her voice, "so Jim—"
"SHUT UP SUZANNE!" I screamed as I veered straight towards the Range Rover.
*Screeeeech* and *SLAM*!
The Rover had barely dodged me as I noticed the Toronto tags and a frightened young girl speeding away.
And there my truck stood, one wheel having fallen off the axle, tires burnt out, and the head of the truck saved from death below by the steel barrier of the bridge. The suspension cables were swaying back and forth from the impact. I looked around at the emptiness of the road and the emptiness within me. I saw the phone line was still connected.
"Mr. Wilson?" I heard in a daze. I hung up. | 2017-12-18T22:02:25 | 2017-12-18T19:02:34 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] The concept of shoot to kill is foreign to other galactic species. Only humans condition their warriors to kill in the most efficient and cold methods possible. When faced with a war they can not win a race does the unthinkable, they set the humans loose. | For ten years the war has been destroying our planet. When the first krogen ships landed near the imperial town we were curious about their intentions. We were not prepared for any hostility. Our society overcame violence and war thousands of years ago. When they aimed their electric guns at us we were petrified. They shocked us, they hit us, those who tried to fight back were heavily injured by their blades. Every single citizen of the imperial town was enslaved in the first week. Even the royal family.
More and more slave ships came. More and more cities fell. We had no army, no one knew how to fight. It took us two years to build a resistance. It was not formed by scientists, artists or philosophers, those people that we all looked up to. It was our fishermen that first fought back. In hindsight it seems logical, they were hunters, they had harpoons and were used to kill the monsters from the deep. No one else was used to spill blood on our planet. Our new leader is Kalman the fisher, Kalman the warrior, Kalman the king.
———
It is the 10th anniversary of the assault. The Sunwind, the last of our space ships has returned from exploration im search for help in our fight and Kalman is meeting with Namar, the enemy war-chief on his vessel to discuss the terms of our surrender. At least that‘s what the Krogen think. But Kalman has a message for them that they are not prepared for and we do not expect him back alive.
———
„Kalman, finally we meet.“ The war chief felt victorious, now that the enemy had gone into the trap. The resistance would lose it‘s head today. The total victory was near.
„Namar. You don‘t think I‘m stupid enough not to know that I will die today?“
Namar‘s movements slowed down, almost stopped, a sign of hesitation.
„Interesting. Keep talking. Why are you here then?“
„Your species has discovered, conquered and enslaved hundreds of planets,...“
„Thousands!“ Namar threw in.
„... you have heard of the human race?“
„Who has not heard of the forbidden system, of those maniac hairless monkeys playing with atoms and killing themselves. No one is allowed to go there until they have destroyed themselves. Why do you mention them?“
„We may lose our freedom and our planet, maybe today or in a year from now but your destiny will be worse.“
„What? What are you talking about? You have lost, you have nothing! You must be crazy! Speak! What is this nonsense?“
„Our ship Sunwind came home today.“
„We know. But it is defenseless as everything else on your weak planet. We have scanned every tak of it and you have nothing that is a thread to us.“
„It came home from its journey to the planet Earth.“
Namar’s movements became slower.
„On Earth we made friends with a warrior tribe and our scientists helped them to build a spaceship.“
Namar‘s eyes opened wide in disbelief.
„We showed them the way to your home planet. We told them of your slavery trade and your dictatorship. Believe me when I say they have weapons that you couldn‘t dream of. When their soldiers fight, they kill. They will leave a trail of blood, they will destroy your planet and your people and make it look like they did a good thing.“
Namar froze. „How?... Why?.... Why should I believe you? Why should they attack us? We are not their enemies!“
We told them about your home planet. We told them about your dirty oceans. We told them about your OIL as they call it. Believe me when I say: They will come for you.“
———
PS: My first short story in a foreign language. Sorry for any mistakes.
Edit: words | The first few years of the war were a brutal, hopeless time. We'd been caught off guard, our race still unaware of other worldly life, and our armies were overwhelmed by their forces.
It was an interesting method of invasion: the squid like species that decided our planet's resources were too valuable to pass up were a clever bunch, and they launched pods from deep space which entered our atmosphere and touched down in our vast oceans. From here, they found our beaches, and emerged in mechanical suits that overpowered our defenses. We were quickly put on the run, and loss of life was unfathomable.
When their suits were empty on projectiles, their tentacles emerged from ports in the armor to rip us apart one at a time. I still see my friends being torn in half by those monsters when I close my eyes each night -the front lines were a death sentence for anyone willing to fight, but we fought on.
We coordinated and calculated, learning as much as we could from each defeat. Until, finally, we started to push back. The collective minds of our race were focused on how to defeat the invaders, and our unbreakable will to live saw us through those dark times.
It had been a decade since any of us had seen the ocean, driven so far into the mainlands, and when we pushed them back to their pods, we killed as many as we could. We slaughtered them as they fled, reveling in the vicious glory of the victorious reclaiming of our lands.
We tore down the cities they had erected in our shallows, and for a time we were at peace again as we rebuilt.
____
Six years after we drove them into our oceans, and I find myself at the same beach I was deployed to during the initial invasion. We've received word that thousands of objects have been detected on a collision course for the planet, and it's all eerily reminiscent of before. This time, we're ready.
I've got a hundred guard at my command, and they're confident in my squid killing abilities -none more confident than I. Reports flood in of pods touching down across the globe, and we watch as hundreds splash into the ocean in front of us. Most of our warriors cheer and holler with each pod's arrival, we're ready for war.
Dozens of pods finally beach in front of us, and I've got my sights on the front door of one. I'm ready to drop the first squid I spot, but the radio floods with manic orders to hold fire. The door opens, but it isn't a squid staring down by scope -it's a man.
Confused shouts are ringing out all around me, but I don't move my eye from the sights. Dozens of humans are walking clumsily out of the pod, and I see thousands more as I scan the beach with my rifle. They're all stumbling about in some kind of stupor as they shuffle through the sand and up the beach.
"Hold fire!" The order echoes down the line, and we're all staring in disbelief.
Finally, someone erupts over the radio. "Prisoners of war! They've returned our P.O.W.'s!"
My men are celebrating all around me as I survey the faces of the faded army shuffling towards us. They're mostly middle-aged; they would have been young at the start of the war, like most of our casualties were, and they're even wearing fatigues similar to ours.
"Oh God," One of my snipers is looking through his scope. "That's my brother... My brother's out there!"
He's over the barricade and sprinting towards the ocean before I can get a word out, and before too long thousands of soldiers have abandoned the line and are running to meet the long lost warriors of old.
"I don't believe it!" Someone says cheerfully behind me.
That's the problem, neither do I. I lean back over the barricade and look through my scope and find a good number of my men hugging and helping the zombified people across the beach.
"Somethings not right. Stay alert! Scan for threats, now!" I yell to the few remaining men around me, and they're slow to respond. I'm scanning the horizon now, thinking the squids are using this as a decoy for their mech units waiting in the deep waters.
First we hear it over the radio, and then we hear it all out in front of us. "It's a trick! Open fire! Hostiles! Hostiles! Hostiles!"
My sights are back on the beach now, and what I see creates a fear in me like I've never imagined. All at once those who came in the pods ripped apart those poor souls who ran out to meet them first. I can see limbs sticking oddly out of the sand, which was now stained red. Thousands of men and women are running towards me, and I don't know friend from foe.
"What the fuck!?"
"What do we do; what the hell do we do!?"
I hear shouts but no shots, and I send the first one of the day down range and through a human skull. "Shoot to kill! Kill em all!"
/r/BeagleTales
| 2018-07-20T19:17:28 | 2018-07-20T14:26:02 | 211 | 104 |
[WP] You have an interesting ability, you can teleport, but only when no one is looking. One night you get hungry so you attempt to teleport downstairs for a snack. You attempt to teleport but realize, you can't.
Original post by Alberto9324 | What, no that can’t be right. Hmmm, let’s try this again maybe I just fucked up part of it up. Ok, my eyes are closed, now just picture the fridge. There it is right in front of me, perfect. Now snap my head forward, open my eyes and. Shit…
&#x200B;
Ok it’s definitely not just me here. Keep calm, let’s figure this one out. The parents are definitely asleep plus my door is closed. That leaves a few windows conveniently right behind me.I found myself struggling to turn around to face the inevitable. I know someone must be watching from there, but for some reason putting off looking provides enough comfort to keep delaying. It took a bit of motivation, and a countdown from five. Then I spun around to the windows to see them apparently empty.
&#x200B;
Reverting back to my previous state I decided inaction may be the best route for me to take here. I went back to bed and let the grumbling of my stomach ease my mind, as I floated off to sleep.
&#x200B;
I woke up the next morning walked downstairs to the fridge, and got out milk for my Captain Crunch.
&#x200B;
“How’d you sleep?” the normal morning question from Mom.
&#x200B;
“Oh, just fine” my normal morning reply
&#x200B;
You know sometimes just ignoring the obvious feels real damn comfortable. | I must have looked like an idiot. The teleportation rituals only work when someone is not watching, because if I did them when someone was, I would be too embarrassed to concentrate enough. The rituals involved spinning in circles as fast as possible while you concentrate on the place you are trying to go. Eventually, you shout "Fried Chili Cheese!" and bang, there you are.
&#x200B;
In fact, this is what had driven me to teleport. I craved Fried Chili Cheese, and I knew how to make it. I wanted to go down to the kitchen and decided to practice my teleportation. I performed the ritual with perfect concentration and looked around, expecting to see my kitchen. Instead, my bedroom seemed as serene as ever.
&#x200B;
I heard a knock on the door and rushed downstairs, not even considering teleporting down. I opened the door and was shocked by what I saw.
&#x200B;
In front of me, fifty men knelt in the grass of my lawn. One of them in the front had a crown raised above his head.
&#x200B;
"Sire," the one with the crown whispered.
&#x200B;
"Whaaaa?" I responded, without the strength or will to do much else.
&#x200B;
"You have learned the sacred rituals. You don't know the abbreviated spell, but that is easily fixable. You are descended from the royal line, thus your ability has developed. Come with us to the castle."
&#x200B;
So I was brought to a highland palace. I was taught the abbreviated ritual, which was twirling my finger and saying "FCC."
&#x200B;
*Disclaimer: this was written not by the author but is based on security footage and his writing style.*
&#x200B;
Of course, my fame was fun, but it came with some downsides. There was one assassination attempt.
&#x200B;
He came out of nowhere after I was already locked in my bedroom. It was to prevent anyone from coming in, but it stopped other from coming out. That made me hold a lot of pee.
&#x200B;
Either way, the assassin approached with a knife in his hand. Twirling my finger, I muttered "FCC, FCC, FCC" before remembering that I cannot teleport with others around. The assassin approached and put the knife through my heart. As I waited to die, my worry was that no one would know my story.
&#x200B;
If you're reading this, I can die in peace.
&#x200B;
Thank you.
&#x200B;
Constructive criticism welcome. r/SkiddyBiddyBop | 2018-09-11T17:52:55 | 2018-09-11T16:39:17 | 260 | 15 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. | Not a day would pass that I wouldn't look into the mirror and wonder if I am stuck in a dream. Now I am sure of it. There can be no other explanation. I should have passed from this realm long ago, and now I seem to be having hallucinations that only happen in dreams. Or perhaps nightmares.
Death himself visited me for coffee yesterday morning. He told me that things were now going to proceed normally, as if nothing had happened. I asked him to be a bit more clear.
"I missed your hourglass during an audit a few decades ago."
"*My* hourglass?" There was more than a little confusion in my question.
"Yes, yes. Everyone gets one. Well, at least one. Yours had been missing and.. I didn't notice. Just recently I found it under the desk in my home office."
"Home office?"
"Yes. I don't like going to the office on the weekend, so the nearly empty ones come home with me." Death began to fidget with his coffee cup.
"I was supposed to die that weekend? When was that?"
"Yes, well... Well it was on your 32nd birthday. Water skiing, I believe. Would not have been a fun day." He stopped tapping his finger on the cup.
"Water skiing? I don't ski."
"I know. But you were supposed to go that day. Do you remember why you didn't?" he asked.
"I barely remember that birthday, to be honest. A bit too much booze perhaps?"
"Interesting. Well, I must be off." he suddenly seemed agitated.
"WAIT! I still don't understand all of this. ANY of this!" I complained.
"Don't worry. We will see each other soon enough, and I can explain more when you are finished with this world."
I looked down at my cold coffee, then back at Death, but he had gone. The rest of the day was wasted by wandering aimlessly through town. Wondering if I should plan my own funeral. Would that be strange?
This morning, I looked in the mirror, and was startled to see a change. Still in a dream. Definitely. My hair was changing color. Like my interrupted timeline was catching up to me, a bit compressed and now filling my life rapidly.
That part could make a bit of sense, perhaps. The part that brings my mind to a halt, is a different problem with this sudden change. My salt and pepper hair was now nearly completely brown. A very suave and smooth brown.
It seems my life had been turned upside down. | ‘I’ve long forgotten you ‘ death said as he took the small hour glass in his hands and arched his skull to a smile reminded of its owner,
39 years ago the bells of ashes has rang loudly “ time to bring the souls home “ death said as he took each hour glass that was placed under the bell as the last
spect of sand had fallen death was on his way to gather the light of life , one after another he visited some old and ready to face him some young and full with regrets nothing that death had not seen until his last hour glass , the vibrant minty green color guided him to the owner he stood between the weeping people that were in a state of distress still oblivious of his being, he looked at the light’s owner , a small girl not more than 5 years of age , death smiled at her eager light that drifted slowly to fill the hour glass but suddenly the light stopped as a small hand tucked death’s hand and furthered it from the light , death looked down to the boy that had anger and sadness in his eyes not slightly frightened be death’s appertaining ‘ he can see me ?’ death said as he turned to the little boy ‘ what is it boy ?’ death asked him , his voice reaching only the boy’s ear “ Give her back to me .” The boy said with a frown ‘ it’s not my decision.....it’s not up to me ‘ death answered “ But you can’t take lily, she’s my best friend!” The little boy answered tears soaking his eyes .
Death placed the hour glass on the floor ‘ see this?’ Death asked the boy to which the boy nodded ‘ everyone has one of these , they tell how much one can live and this one ran out of time .’ The boy looked at it for some time , before saying anything death added ‘ I’m but a collector I gather the empty ones and place them somewhere safe I can’t help with what you ask .’
“ is mine full ?” The boy asked , death pondered on what to say to the curiously brave creature in front of him but decided to answer him with honesty ‘ it is ‘
The boy looked at Lily and with a determined voice he asked “ can I share half of mine with Lily ?”
Death looked at the boy’s innocence and wandered if he knew the consequences of what he asks ‘ if you give her half of yours then I’ll meet you sooner than you are destined to .’ The boy smiled the traces of tears still fresh on his face “ I know .” Death looked him in the eye ‘ you are not afraid of dying?’ To which the boy answered “ maybe I am but I know for sure that Lily is afraid and she always cries when she’s afraid.” He took a small hour glass toy from his pocket and placed it in death’s hands and said “ And I don’t want Lily to cry .”
Death wiped the dust off the small toy as he felt the warmth of that memory he heard the bell of ashes ring loudly “ Time to bring souls home “ he took the empty hour glass and went to meet it’s owner , the light emanating from it more familiar than any other , he stood on the end of a hospital bed and looked at the man how greeted him with a smile . ‘ your time is up ‘ death said and the man replied with all the strength he had “ well.....I was expecting you early “ death smiled as the last particles of dust were falling ‘ do you regret it?’ Death asked as the last spect fell , the man looked at his wife and children smiling softly as he squeezed his wife’s hand reassuringly “.... Not one bit....” the dandy yellow light swirled around the people at the room leaving some warmth and finally entering its glass hour , death took the hour glass with a satisfied smile he said ‘ I didn’t think you would, let’s go home ‘ | 2018-10-03T08:25:36 | 2018-10-03T07:48:22 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. |
Ok so what happened isn’t my fault I want to make that clear, it happened way before my time. But naturally it was blamed on me. My boss is kind of a huge dick. I like him most of the time but some days he gives me so much shit to do that I can’t even seem to keep track of my left elbow let alone a CD-126T termination form. Honestly, I don’t even know what he does all day I feel like I’m doing most of his work if not all of it. He’s older than dirt and is never in a good mood, nothing I do pleases him he just stays in his office with the doors closed while I sit at my desk and work my ass off all day.
I guess I’m ranting… Let me rewind a bit.
My name is Charlie and I am the second reaper there has ever been. I was hired a couple thousand years ago when the human’s population reached a size that my boss couldn’t handle on his own. We process the death of every being, but human deaths require a lot of paperwork and management. We work in a decent sized office on the second most infinite floor; sharing the floor with birth who is also a lot busier these days. It’s 2018 and times are strange.
Before we used to keep track of creature’s lives with hourglasses. They all had to be manually filled with the correct amount of sand, labeled, categorized, flipped, etc… It was time consuming but when you are an eternal being that works on your own schedule things don’t tend to have a huge amount of urgency. Now, however, almost everything is done on a computer. There are still a few rooms down the hall filled with timepieces, but they still have a long way to go before they run out. The computer is much more organized and user friendly. I deal with almost all deaths, but my boss deals with the really important ones. He’s usually the one that goes into the rooms down the hall and flips a piece then personally goes and collects the lives. Hercules, King Arthur, Gandhi, the big shot humans mostly. Well anyway, I was dropping off some forms for him to sign yesterday morning and he wasn’t there. It was weird, he hardly misses a day every few thousand years or so. I figured maybe he was in a meeting with the big guy upstairs, so I set the stack down on his desk and turned to leave. One of the loose papers on top blew off or something because I heard it slide to the floor. It took me a minute to find it but it handed under his desk. When I bent down to grab it I saw a time piece in the corner between partitions of the desk. It was dust and a really old model, I had never seen one of these in up close. It had been sideways, so no sand was flowing. That is very bad. One of the flaws about these old pieces is that if no sand is flowing then the soul doesn’t exist. If it stopped flowing then the person was suddenly snapped from existence and forgotten, with my passage or legitimate paperwork.
This could fuck up the whole universe.
I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’ve been waiting outside the big guy’s office for a while now while he and my boss talk. I’ve heard some yelling and I’m pretty nervous.
Fuck they’re calling me in. Wish me luck.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Note: Pretty new at this, I dig constructive feedback but please don't be too harsh about spelling and grammar they aren't my strong suits. | The boy ran, red-faced, across the field full of dead grass and frosty branches. Winter had passed but spring was yet to come. His still frozen breaths shivered him slightly. It was cold, yet he was burning. He might have a fever.
That morning, his parents, him and his little sister along with another dozen doctors and scientists drove to this remote place, faraway from home, where leafless trees hung like skeletons and no living thing was in sight and the ground a black murky color and the sky was bleak grey and it seemed ready to rain and the leftover snow dissolved pitifully. They entered this building with even more scientists and doctors and he helped push his sister's bed along the steel cold corridor with all the smell of foreign chemicals in the air. He wanted to get close to his sister but there were too many people around so instead he just gently took his wool hat and covered her thin bald head with it. His parents was walking alongside the bed, his father was talking with a doctor about how they were going to froze his sister and thawed her out when there was a cure, his mother was holding his sister's little hand and telling her stories from her favorite picture book. He wanted to hold her hand too, if only it wasn't tangled in the multitude of wires that smelt like hospital.
At the end of the corridor was a large living room. All the doctors and scientists left at once, leaving his family behind. He saw his mother shaking, and he knew she was going to cry. He wasn't going to cry. He was a man and men don't cry. Strangely enough, his mother didn't, either.
"Honey, you've been through this many times before." - said his mother - "You're going to take a quick nap and when you wake up you're going to feel a lot better."
"And this is going to be the last time, too." - said his father - "After this you never going to the hospital again."
"You promise." - a small light lit up in tired eyes. - "You really promise?"
"Have I ever lied to you before?" - his father extended his arm and they made a pinky promise - "Tell you what, when we get home there will be a party and all your friends are gonna be invited."
"Not Carla, dad! I hate her."
"No Carla then, and mom's gonna make the best pancakes she had ever made and you can play all you want and you don't have to go to bed. You'll do that, right, dear?"
His father told his mother once, then twice, and his mother just hugged her baby.
"I love you, hon." - she said - "I love you."
"I love you too, mum." - his sister returned the hug. - "And I love you too, dad."
"My brave fighter." - said his father, caressing her head. - "Harry, do you want to say something to your sister? Something nice?"
So the boy stepped forward into the spot of his mother, and he held the hand of his sister. But he didn't said anything. It was his sister that spoke.
"Promise me you'll feed Whisker three times a day and only with tuna? He hates vegetable so don't make him eat your broccoli."
The boy didn't reply. A doctor stood across the glass pane by the door. His father replied instead.
"He'll, hon. Now, be brave." - he took the boy's hands away from his sister's, and the boy said.
"Whisker will be there when you wake up. And I will be there when you wake up. And mom and dad. Everyone's gonna be there when you wake up."
They watched as the doctors pushed the bed into another room, and on the screen they could see a cold mist envelope her sister's body. They could see her sleeping face, frozen in time. They could send a prayer, into the future.
His mother wiped her face with a handkerchief and his father lit up a smoke by the window. Nobody said anything. He thought about how she would be 4 when he is 18, 4 when he is 40 and when he turned 80 she would be 4. And time still flowed. And time still flowed... Still nobody said anything. He screamed out, but his mother was still wiping her face and his father still smoked the burned-out cigarette.
So he ran.
He ran, red-faced, across a field full of dead grass and frosty branches. It was cold. He was shivering and shaking, but he was burning also. He slipped and fell, face-down into a puddle of mud and the mud got in his eyes and he got a reason to cry. As he lied face-down in the puddle, shaking and shivering and burning, he hoped spring would come soon. He really hoped, that the ice would thaw and spring would come soon. | 2018-10-03T07:42:16 | 2018-10-03T07:34:53 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Log 2543: We have landed on the planet known as Earth and have made contact with an inhabitant. They call themselves “Benjamin” and are 5 Earth cycles in age. He wished to engage in an activity known as “hide and seek”. We cannot find him now. Requesting aid. | "Obviously the humans possess stealth technology unlike any we have encountered," Dajos said, "This Benjamin is toying with us. I shall declare Dus Vas when I find him."
"Oh ho!" Norom laughed at his friend, "Dajos of the Hunter's Guild unable to track a child. You will declare the rite of ritual combat with him? Be careful, mighty hunter, if he fights as well as he hides he might have another pelt for his wall."
"Bah!" Dajos spat belligerently, "Keep pushing me, Norom, and we shall dance the Dus Vas together. Do you see any pelts on these walls? Humans are soft!" Dajos sniffed the ground and continued the hunt.
"Perhaps we should check behind the cloth window hanging," Norimor, the youngest of the Lanori Scout Party offered, pointing at the white cloth with local flora embossed upon it.
"I've already looked there three times, young fool," Dajos spat again, growing even angrier if that were possible, "Before you say it I also checked the adjacent rectangular clothing storage unit and under its nest. Where the blazes is this Benjamin?"
"Perhaps you should call for a Clan Master?" Norom grinned at him then raised his paws to show he were kidding, "Why don't you just call for him?"
"What?" said Dajos, he could smell the cub near, "Give up? To a primiti... why are you all smiling?" He suddenly got the distinct impression that his clan mates found this amusing. Were they looking behind him? He turned quickly but nothing was there.
"Oh, this is too much, should we tell him?" Norimor said, hiding a grin behind his paw, "Come on! This is too much."
"Tell me what?" he was about to ask when the crafty Benjamin finally jumped out from behind him and said "Boo!" causing Dajos to almost do a double back flip in surprise.
"You were behind me the whole time?" Dajos asked, "Moving behind me when I moved? You are devious, Benjamin, your race is crafty. I think the clans will contact your leaders as you are worthy to be called predator and not prey."
"I don't know what any of that means," Benjamin said, "Can we play something else?"
"Like what?" Dajos said and was taught how to play Tic-Tac-Toe, which Benjamin won every round of - the crafty devil. | Log 2544: Repeat, requesting aid. The humans are giants, our instruments show Benjamin to be seven thousand two hundred and forty-four retricts tall. The tallest among our species is just under a thousand retricts. Not only the planet is massive, the inhabitants are as well. If Benjamin is an example, these creatures are not interested in dialogue even though we can communicate with them in their own language.
Log 2545: Cancel request for aid. Mission to resume primary directive. The human has been found hiding inside what can only be described as a giant lake, spanning behind his residence and curiously square. The human produces gases which we are testing for toxicity, but we deduce that most compounds in this planet's atmosphere are harmless.
Log 2549: Xcrictich reporting, Xtinsil is dead. I repeat, Xtinsil is dead. He emerged from one of our satellite rovers and was pounced upon by a giant, furry predator. The gleam in it's eyes were like nothing we've ever seen, cold and hard and unyielding. Forgive me for this description, but you must be warned. The creature would let him run and then effortlessly catch him and... toy with him, giant tail flicking back and forth, claws raking his body. We watched him die screaming. This is a sadistic creature, yet, when Benjamin approaches it arches it's back and lets out a strange, elongated sound of content.
Log 2553: We have left Benjamin. He is small for their species, a mere youth. The larger ones undergo tens of earth cycles. The largest we've seen is 18 thousand retricts tall. We have deduced that we are in some sort of residential compound. There are giant identical houses in neat rows lining a vast paved strip of land, this scene repeats itself in all directions.
Log 2554: There is a body of vegetation contained within this compound. we have set up our command post high in the tallest piece of vegetation. This planet has potential, as such we are requesting more reinforcements and supplies. So far we have cataloged thirty-two of the dominant species. There are many other species that exist with them, in their homes, some unnoticed, and many more that exist outside in the planet's habitat. Images of our surrounding are and base camp location are uploading now.
Log 2558: Xrintch reporting, Xcrictich is dead. I repeat, Xcrictich is dead. A fierce flying animal, it's cries shattering the sky, took him as he was patrolling the south side of our habitat zone. This is a dangerous and fierce world, yet it is beautiful as well. The planet's star casts wonderful shades of light over the horizon.
Log 2575: This world is vast and inhabited, but there is a place for us here. Our scouts have reported huge tracts of land where the dominant species rarely ventures, huge swaths that are home to dangers of all sorts, yes, but to opportunities as well. Our vehicles and habitats can keep the lesser species out, our death rate and near-death encounters are reducing dramatically as we discover more, learn more about this world. We dare not think it yet, but maybe we can grow anew here.
Log 2576: Signal the Starfleet to begin preparations for departure and to call in all colonial exploration teams. We have found a world on which to begin again.
Log 2809: This log is just a formality, call signal will be terminated upon Starfleet's imminent arrival. Of the fifty pioneers to arrive on this planet, only thirty-two of us remain. We have found a huge, uninhabited expanse of rock to colonize. Even now we are hollowing out the core. This is a harsh land, and our migration will come with untold challenges. But this *can* be our new home. Xrintch out. | 2018-10-04T15:39:30 | 2018-10-04T13:27:10 | 2,138 | 224 |
[WP] Your free trial for life has ended, but to everyone's surprise, you are the first to figure out how to get a premium subscription, leaving the Grim Reaper very, very confused.
EDIT: wow I didn't expect this to get more than 7 upvotes | Laying on my deathbed, surrounded by family and friends, I see the grim reaper approach, my time had come... well, not really.
See a couple years ago I had found this little tablet thingy, with a bunch of strange glyphs and runes on it. So when I found it I simply just touched one of the symbols, and a voice, from supposedly the tablet, said “insufficient funds”. I held on to that tablet even until death, so when I saw death, he was holding a credit card.
“Wh-what is... where... what?” I said. And the reaper replied, “here, let me cover the cost, it’s rare that I actually get to spend credits.”, “credits? What... what are you talking about?”, “this” he said as he touched one of the glyphs with his skeletal hand. The glyph turned green and said “transaction received. Premium mode unlocked” and with that, a flash of light, and I was at the beginning of my life again... except something was different.
First of all, I still had my memory of my past life. I feel like a 2 year old infant shouldn’t have PTSD. That not to say that it wasn’t good though, i pretty much skipped though school and on to life, where the second thing happened.
After I turned 18, a new app appeared on my phone called “premium mode”, and I assumed it was a virus or something, so I got a new phone. Still there, so I opened it, and inside was a record of my entire life. Information about my current age, height, address, etc, all there. Then an options menu. In there I found hundreds of things, most notable being the “vessel modifier”, and “add funds”. But the most amazing of all the options was the load last save, allowing me to essentially travel through time.
Lastly, I’m now immortal... so that’s new. Honestly it’s the most underwhelming thing since I can do whatever I want now. Life is pretty much a video game to me now, and I’m the character and the player at the same time. | I slowly turn the handle, and push the door open. Of course it creaks. All old doors do. I'm wary. I never like it when an appointment isn't scheduled. Most people think I love my job, but it is my own personal hell. I descend the the wooden staircase into the basement, scared of what I might find down here. Every second stair creaks with age, and as I finally leave the staircase, I see the light flooding round the corner.
I brace myself for the view as I enter the room, the light blinding to my eyes. "Good evening Taylor"
As my eyes adjust I see the young man, skin pale from lack of sunlight, suit of black, one might describe him as a Vampire, if such things existed. Yet he wasn't dead, and this shocked me, nearly as much as him knowing my name.
"I invited you here, because I needed to speak to you before tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I was struggling to stay confident, it was not everyday you met a man like this.
A sly smile "I believe tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, was our original appointment."
I pulled my notebook out of the pocket on my left side, I flipped to tomorrow, and I had only appointment in this state. "Elon?" such an unique name.
"That's right, Taylor, and now lets talk about why I invited you here"
"Indeed young Elon, it's not everyday someone calls me early to talk. Infact, you are the first in history to call upon Death the night before you die"
"oh but you see, Taylor. I invited you here tonight, because I am not dying tomorrow. Infact, I won't ever die."
"Elon, you can't just"
"Shut up for a second," he cut me off as I tried to explain to the young hopeful, "I won't ever die, because I just upgraded to a premium subscription."
The idiot. There were only 2 immortal beings. God and Death. He couldn't just add another immortal being, it would destroy the universe. "Do you truly understand what you are asking for Elon?"
"Uhh yeah. the chance to spend eternity forever improving the human race"
I pull my hood off, i drop the stupid stick with the hook, "you don't know what this means. I just hope someone frees you in the next few millenium or so, and that you don't have to wait aslong as me"
"frees me? this IS freedom"
"Yes Elon. You are free. Free to reap the souls of the dead for the rest of eternity. You have taken my place as Death. There is no changing this fact. You must visit every soul that dies. You must see every horrible death, every tragic accident, every cruel act of violence. It is your curse to live for eternity, but to see the death of every other being.
I will honour you and live out a life of achievement. I will take humanity to the stars, so that your name may be honored."
Elon just looked at me, what little colour his face had, quickly draining away. Before he had time to move, my cloak and hood embraced him. He was no longer Elon, but Death. He had taken on a fate worse than death, in an attempt to avoid it. But I would honour him. I am no longer Taylor. I am Elon, Elon Musk. And I will take humanity to the stars. | 2019-04-15T05:49:41 | 2019-04-15T03:00:22 | 96 | 58 |
[WP]You're an ancient Greek man coming home from 4 months of war to find your wife 3 months pregnant. Now you've embarked on a solemn quest: to punch Zeus in the face. | "You're here to do what to me?" the King of the Gods asked, a bushy eyebrow raised and a sudden smile appearing on his face.
"Punch you in the face," I said, my fists closing and opening in anticipation, "You got my wife pregnant."
"Ah," Zeus looked away in contemplation, "Was it Lorissa of Abila?" When he saw my look of confusion he continued, "Maybe it was Themela of Thebes? or Camilla of Alexandria?"
"See!" I yelled, stepped forward and he raised his golden hands defensively, "This is what I mean! You've bedded so many women you don't even remember her."
"Oh I'm sure I'd remember her if you'd give me a clue," Zeus said, "Do you happen to have a vase with her picture on it? Wait, did she have really big knockers or smaller knockers? Big hips or slim?"
"That's it!" I said, drawing my fist back. Sure, he'd lightning bolt me a second later but I didn't care anymore.
"Hold on, hold on, man," Zeus said and smiled, "We can come to some arrangement here. No need for all of this anger and violence."
"No need for..." I was grinding my teeth, "If there's no need for violence why are you always fighting Titans and giants? Besides, you got my wife pregnant when I was off fighting the Spartans!"
"Hold on, can I make you the god of something?" Zeus said, "How about the fields? Rivers? Do you like turtles?"
"What about wine," I offered, suddenly interested in his proposition.
"Wine!" Zeus boomed and laughed, "There you go! What's your name, son?"
"Dionysus," I said then gasped. There was suddenly a full bottle of wine in one hand and a golden cup in the other. Well, if I couldn't undo what Zeus had done, at least I could drink it away. I took a long drag from the bottle and raised a toast, "To my cheating wife, Berrala of Athens!"
"Berrala!" Zeus laughed, "She DID have big knockers!" | “Honey, I’m home!”
The war was brief all things considered, but it was still an arduous struggle. The bodies piled high towards the sky. Everytime we go to battle, it’s not the blood and gore that get me, it’s not the screams of my comrades as they’re butchered, it’s not even the pain I might endure. It’s the smell. That smell of blood and shit festering in the hot air. It haunts me for weeks during the journey home but I forget about it everytime I see my beautiful wife.
“Odell you’re back!” Agnete ran to greet me. I swept her up in my arms and pulled her close. Something felt a little different but I had been gone for four months. I shouldn’t have had such a thought but it crossed my mind that my wife could be getting fat...surely it was all the comfort food from missing me! “Oh, oh, not too tight!”
My grip relented and I looked her in the eyes. “Love bug, is everything alright?”
“Umm,” tears welled up in her eyes. “No, no it’s not.”
“What is it?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Well this is great news! We had been trying for so long before I left!”
“Honey, you don’t understand.”
“What? Is something wrong with the baby?”
“No I’m sure the baby is as healthy can be, probably healthier even.”
“Are you not okay?”
“It’s not yours.”
“What? What do you mean?” I said stepping back from her. I collapsed in a nearby chair. My mind raced. “What? When? Who?”
“It happened while you were gone but it’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think? What do you mean not what I think?” I stood up, enraged. “My wife had an affair while I was away at war!”
“Honey, just calm down, let me explain.”
“Explain what?! That you let another man in our bed! Who is this fiend? I’m going to...to….to…”
“Honey, you can't kill him!”
“No, no I wouldn’t, I’m going to punch him in the face!”
“You can’t do that either!”
“Why not! Tell me who the man you let in our bed is!”
“He is no man!”
“A woman can’t get you pregnant! Don’t tell me you slept with a boy!”
“No, no, honey. It was a god.”
“Oh…” I slumped back down. “Well, that changes things. Are you okay?”
“No, not really.” My wife sat down beside me. “I tried to stop him, I really did.”
“It’s okay dear,” I began to stroke the back of her head. “When the gods want something, they get it. Which one was it?”
She remained silent and stared off in the distance.
“It was Zeus, wasn’t it?”
She nodded then asked. “What are we gonna do?”
I paused for a long moment. I considered my options. Raising a Demi god would bring great honor to our family. But this rage inside me burned brighter and brighter as I imagined what had taken place while I was gone. I told myself to just breath. Inhale. Exhale. Then a thought crossed my mind that danced with my rage and gave me satisfaction. I am a man of my word.
“Honey,” I said. “I’m going to punch Zeus in the face.” | 2019-08-20T06:13:53 | 2019-08-20T05:59:57 | 257 | 56 |
[WP] As the Empire descends upon Earth despite the Federation's best efforts, the Galactic Council watches in horror; their invasion force will soon be wiped out, and when they are, the most violent species in the galaxy will have access to space age technology. | “I dont understand, their leaders surrendered three cycles ago, how are they still fighting?” - Said K
“They seem to be completely disconnected from their leaders sir, a rogue groups consisting of former soldiers, poorly trained civilians and a small number of tacticians” - S responded quickly
“Then how do the manage to defeat our best soldiers? How do they even communicate? Our studies showed little to no ability of mental communication, they are glorified animals!” - K shouted
“They learned from their mistakes of engaging our troops in an open battle and now adapted another strategy of hiding and striking our weak points. We dont know how they communicate sir” - S responded nervously
“We also found a primitive data storage disk on the body of a formerly missing peacekeeper, the body was stripped of almost all gear sir” - S added
“What was on it?” - K asked
“A video sir, a very disturbing video, but i think you should watch it sir.” - S responded
*a video starts playing on a small wall mounted screen, it shows humans wielding what appears to be modified plasma rifles testing them on living alien targets, frame shifts to a dissected alien body on a table with a sheet of paper saying “you’re next” near it*
“I think we have a problem” - K said before vomiting
——————————
I am kinda new to this, would love some feedback! | Diplomacy has failed. This newly discovered species had at first warned us. They had shown us the violence they are capable of, told us stories of the wars they fought amongst themselves over arbitrary imaginary lines scribbled on pictures of their planet. They entertain themselves with depictions of violence, and regularly discriminate against each other for having slight differences, they oppress one another and ravage the planet that sustains them.
Yet we tried to reason with them. We tried to be diplomatic, and yet the masses attacked our diplomats, rended their limbs and looted their ships. And from the loot they took, they learned and adapted. They built their own ships, and began to explore at first, and then began to build small colonies on nearby planets, destroying all that would impede their progress.
It was clear, we had to eradicate this stain on the universe. It was only a matter of time before they managed to reverse engineer the hyper light engines in the diplomats ships, we had to do something.
The invasion was swift and brutal. We destroyed their colonies, shot down any vehicles we could find in their solar system, and descended upon their planet. We targeted their main cities, and once we had successfully secured a base on their planet, we thought we had won. But this species was a lot more resourceful than we thought. They were a lot more cunning than we expected.
They had engineered bio weapons to target our glorblaxian anatomy specifically. They had developed weapons that could penetrate our armor. What had been a successful start to our invasion quickly turned into a bloodbath. Our soldiers were slaughtered with a ferocity we had never seen the likes of, and with brutality one would never expect to see from even the most deranged of animals. Within barely a single rotation around their resident star, we had gone from a successful invasion to a humiliating defeat. We issued the order to retreat, and quarantined the planet.
It's been 10 star cycles since then. They've stopped launching ships 5 cycles ago, and we assumed that they had accepted their fate as a quarantined planet. And then we saw it. They launched a ship, despite being crippled from war and genocide. Our energy based weapons were ineffective against the ship, and it eradicated our entire fleet within minutes. We thought we were exterminating them... Yet all we did was arm them.
This will be my final transmission log. The empire is in danger, and the federation must assist. The ship is preparing for a hyper light jump as we speak. We are going to ram the ship mid-jump. At the very least, our sacrifice will buy the empire some time. | 2019-10-01T23:45:56 | 2019-10-01T20:50:47 | 34 | 12 |
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